The Eleventh Hour
by Apocalyptic Lore
Summary: The estate of Feliciano, a rather stupid man with far too much money on his hands, is infiltrated by a group of rebels out for both his money and his throat. What better to do than hire an unsuspecting German bodyguard? AU, looking for criticism!
1. The Wrath of Gelato?

**Title:** The Eleventh Hour

**Length/Genre:** Multi-chapter, though the quantity is unknown at the moment. Somewhat multi-genre, too; a lot of humor, romance, and drama… Dramatically comedic love?

**Rating:** T for now… may or may not go up later.

**Warnings:** Um… AU, language, possible blood/gore, and non-graphic sexual situations. Human names used.

**Characters:** Too many to list. Eventually, virtually every nation will make some sort of appearance… maybe.

**Pairings:** Mainly GerIta, accompanied by slight Spamano (mostly just in this chapter), some FrUK, possibly USUK, minor Russia/China… and maybe others, depending on what you all want to see. There will likely be mildly-used or implications of many more, including SuFin, LietPol, and Franada. Feel free to request any.

**Summary: **The Vargas brothers have inherited the family fortune, but with Lovino moving away and a group of rebels out for both their money and their throats, what is poor Feliciano to do? His brother, before taking leave, suggests a bodyguard. If only Ludwig had known what he was in for before applying… AU

Thank you all for taking the time to read this. Feedback, praise and criticism are all greatly appreciated! This will be my first time writing for GerIta, and only my second time writing an AU, so I would really like to know how this goes… In addition, if this _would_ happen to go up a rating, I have never tried anything M-rated before either. As mentioned previously, this is an AU, which doesn't exactly seem to take place in our world, either, even though continents and whatnot share common names. Therefore, some things may be a bit of a blur right now, but they will clear up in time. This all came to me about two weeks ago, just after the start of CM (my other APH AU), and I have yet to work out _every_ little detail.

So, without further ado, I present to thee "The Eleventh Hour". Enjoy.

* * *

**Prologue**

Italy- A nation, vast in both size and overwhelming power, jutting out from the mainland of Europe; surrounded from coast to coast by two seas of shimmering blue, overlooking the glorious world beyond. Its grand cultural sparks and populous cities once made unbelievable opportunities for all who came to reside upon its lushly-grown land. As of late, it has lessened in desirability, what with the popularization of areas further west, and yet its inhabitants whom made it a point to remain in their Italian homes came to prosper… well, the vast majority, as it was. In a select few areas of this serene nation, particularly those further inland than not, hostility and distaste had begun to infest the minds of the poorer civilians, causing them to perform unmentionable crimes that could have otherwise been prevented. Matters only worsened as aristocrats and other noblemen, as well as rich families that were affiliated with said superiors, started their own businesses and settled down in their mansions, which had been mistakenly built right outside the slums of Italy. Feudal disagreements all but tore this region apart with its bear talons, ripping apart families and comrades in the process. Companions were lost, towns were burned to the ground, and chaos promptly overtook the section of the once-glorious nation. Disputes slowly began to dissipate, however, upon one particular dispute which rattled the minds of both noble and commoner; the accidental murders of Nevio and Antonella Vargas, a wealthy couple whom had migrated from Rome a few years prior to their death date.

Before their demise, no aristocrats had lost their lives in the feuds that had broken out between the two rival parties. However, soon following the deaths of the two nobles, the remainder of the upper class had fled back towards the larger cities, fearful for their own lives, and left behind all traces of their former residency…

…All except the Vargas children and their servants. Lovino Vargas had been about seventeen at the time of his family's decease, while his younger brother, Feliciano, had been almost fifteen years of age. Whilst the other nobles had turned tail and fled, the two teenagers had remained in their place, within the safe haven of their family's mansion, served by many for the first year of their lives without authority, until Lovino had grown to the ripe age of eighteen, in which he could legally take care of his younger brother. Lovino and Feliciano had, obviously, inherited the family fortune, and could easily hire new servants upon the departure of the others. The younger brother had suggested that they hire younger, more youthful obligators, but as those were in exceptionally short supply at the time, they had settled with less-than-best and employed a few part-timers.

Although a few remained internally bitter, most of the civilians had grown quite accustomed to the company of the aristocratic young men, some of which even growing quite close to them. As it was, Lovino and Feliciano had done next to nothing to harm them or insult their status in any way, so most accepted them with open arms. One of these civilians, in particular, was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, a Spanish immigrant who had moved with his family as a child into the Italian slums after they had gone bankrupt. Lovino had been the first to interact with the Spaniard, having accidentally (and rather clumsily) knocked over a stall of tomatoes, owned by the Carriedo family's business. The two had exchanged bickers for a year or so, occasionally coming across each other at the marketplace at which Antonio worked, but soon grew into close companions. To Feliciano, their relationship had always been a strange one; after all, they continued to quarrel throughout the years, usually about the most trivial of subjects.

And, yet, his brother would eventually accept a marriage proposal from the Spaniard.

********

**Chapter One- The Wrath of Gelato…?**

"Uwah!" Feliciano exclaimed excitedly, sitting at the dining room table in one of the regal oak chairs. "I can't believe you're getting married, Lovino! And to Antonio!"

"I know, I know! I'm the one who's engaged, not you; I should hope that I know about my own wedding!" his brother replied somewhat haughtily, strolling past his brother with a sizeable cardboard box nestled in his slender fingers. "Are you sure you're going to be alright, here on your own?" Though the inquiry was well-intended, the older sibling couldn't have said it with much more monotone.

Feliciano smiled rather childishly, skillfully twisting a bite of spaghetti onto his fork from the porcelain platter before him. "Ve~! You can count on me!" The younger Italian, now a man of about twenty years of age, hadn't altered in appearance all that much from those five years ago; the same, foolish façade, the all-too-familiar disarray of his unkempt auburn locks of hair (including one of which always managed to coil out on the side- many often wondered why the two brothers refused to cut off their identical curls). Lovino, on the other hand, had grown fairly gruff, and had continued to immature as the years progressed. He now beheld the boundless age of twenty-two, a mildly dangerous one when not handled with care, as this was the year in which he would surely explore his boundaries the most… particularly with Antonio, as most of the commoners had thought internally.

The older of the two groaned as his brother shoved another glob of pasta into his mouth, slurping it obnoxiously past his saucy red lips with complete disregard to the queasiness that such an act brought forth to Lovino. The cranky Italian glanced hurriedly away, feeling the foul burn of bile plunge from his throat back down to his stomach as he calmed. "Yeah, well, you still haven't hired any extra help around here, and if you expect me to hold your hand through the process, think again! I'm already sick of being _your_ personal advisor, and I have a lifetime with that Spanish asshole to look forward to! I can't help out the both of you, you know. In a few days time, I'll be in Spain, and I won't be here to take care of you." He grimaced, gritting his teeth slightly as the corners of the storage box dug mercilessly into his hands. Swearing under his breath, the older Italian placed the container on the floor by the door, atop a cluster of other various boxes and personal items, and shoved a hand into the left pocket of his dress pants, groping around for something in particular. "Where'd I put the damn thing…?" he grumbled to himself, digging deeper into the pocket and finally retracting a slip of sleek paper, blatant black marker lines drawn across the page. He positioned the paper in front of Feliciano, who seemed pretty preoccupied stuffing his face with ruby sauce and angel hair noodles to pay much more attention than the norm. "This is a paper describing how the whole caboodle works. You stick a "help wanted" ad in the paper and send it across the globe… I'm not really sure how it works, myself, but commoners use these things all the time. I borrowed this from Antonio last week, so he knows how it happens. If you need any help, because you're bound to, just give him a call. But don't even_ think _of contacting me… especially at night. You startled the hell out of us last time!"

"But… I really needed to know where you left the TV remote! And, when I called, all I heard were a bunch of moaning noises! You didn't help me at all…"

"It was _midnight_!" He sighed in exasperation, all but pulling his hair out as a boiling frustration brewed from within. "Just finish up your pasta and help me get these things to the car."

"Okay!" Feliciano said cheerily, placing his fork atop the china plate and following behind his (beloved?) elder brother. "Ve, Lovino! When do you leave?"

"We've been over this! I'm leaving tonight, but we aren't officially leaving Italy until tomorrow morning. _Early_ tomorrow morning." The last thing he desired to see was his brother, clad in nothing but his boxer shorts, standing outside in the marketplace to bid them farewell. How humiliating…

"Oh… Okay!" He retained that blasted smile. Feliciano hurriedly proceeded to drag a few boxes out to the trunk of the automobile, most likely impatient for his dinner-eating, while humming a rather agitating tune. Lovino rubbed at his temples, both thankful and regretful for his decision to depart; it would mean getting away from his brother for the majority of his life, yet it would also mean having to spend the remainder of it with his tomato-loving companion. This was just further indication that his life… well, sucked, for lack of a better term.

And, for this reason alone, he was envious of his younger brother, for Feliciano had been fortunate enough to live a carefree, happy-go-lucky life… and had managed to live to tell the tale. In his eyes, that had always been the cause of his parents' murder; they had mirrored their youngest son in almost every way imaginable, though they were a bit more sensible about various topics than Feliciano.

He could only hope that things would continue to proceed in the way they had in the past.

********

"Goodbye, Lovino~!" Feliciano stood on the porch, flailing his hand about in a flamboyant wave as he bid his brother a final farewell. Lovino rolled his hazel eyes, but returned the smile begrudgingly before driving away forevermore. "I'm sure going to miss him, ve~… But he can't stop me from eating all of the gelato, now!" The youngest Vargas brother hopped gleefully away from the edge of the porch, striding into the house in giddy bounds and slamming the door behind him with a dull thud. He proceeded to leap frivolously towards the kitchen, throwing open the freezer door and removing the carton of creamy white gelato. The sweet scents wafted from the container up to his nostrils as he peeled back the lid with anxious fingers, mouth salivating and drool threatening to flood over onto the counter at the marvelous sight. Lovino had always saved the glorious dessert for himself, telling Feliciano that it would stunt his growth. Well, the younger sibling had believed every word of it, but figured that, considering the fact that he hadn't grown a centimeter for about three years now, he wouldn't have to fret about something as ridiculous as "stunting his growth".

Spoonful after spoonful, he gobbled down the gelato, leaving it helpless to his coldblooded gluttony. Following his devouring of the creamy treat, however, his stomach began to give groans and grumbles of protest, complaining to its body through means of torturous pains. "Wah! Lovino was right, I'm going to start shrinking!" he wept to himself, clutching his agonized stomach in horror. "I'm sorry, Lovino! I won't disobey you again!" The stomachache persisted, and the Italian aristocrat had taken a good thirty minutes to hoist himself up from the ground long enough to trudge back into his bedroom, moaning in pain at his persevering anguish. He collapsed onto the fluffy mattress, taking great comfort in its cottony embrace as he felt his ache begin to subside.

He remained laying there, sprawled out upon the bedspread like a dead rat in a mouse trap. How appropriate, for, at that moment, the simile fit him to a fault.

A piercing crash sounded from below the upper level of the house, startling the Italian out of his sleepy daze long enough to leap from the bedside and under the covers, shielding his body from the horrid noise. "L-Lovino…?" he muttered, tears pouring down his face in worry. "C-C-Could it be… that you kn-know about the gelato? I said I-I was sorry…" No reply reached his ears, though the sound of approaching footsteps echoed hauntingly in one ear and out the other. His breathing hitched in his throat as they came to a screeching halt, not a single noise erupting from downstairs for a good five minutes. Releasing a shaky sigh of relief, Feliciano removed the satin sheets from atop his head and folded them daintily back over his body.

"Don't move," whispered a cold voice, heavily accented in an unfamiliar dialect. The Vargas boy clenched the blankets tightly in his fists, teeth chattering beyond his conscious control. An icy steel object met his throat, threatening to draw blood at any given moment. In the darkness of the night, he was unable to make out the face of his captor, though feared the worst, and was therefore grateful for this blessing. The perpetrator spoke once more. "Not a single bloody word, you hear me?"

A heavy wave of terror jolted down Feliciano's spine, causing him to flinch uncontrollably and accidentally pummel his intruder to the ground. Another voice met his ears from the story below, a much smoother voice, though it too was mingled with a familiar accent, likely belonging to someone of French descent. "Ivan, didn't _mon cheri_ tell you not to break the window open with the pipe?"

"No, aru!" spoke yet another voice, causing a panicky cry to emit from the Italian's mouth as the perpetrator beside him struggled to calm him down. "Don't blame it all on him, aru! You and Feliks were being equally loud, what with your heavy boots clomping about!"

"Hey, that's, like, totally unfair, Yao!" How many people had infiltrated his freakin' house? There were three and a half security systems set up (the half was from Feliciano stuffing one with ravioli once as a child- it had been cleaned, but had only beeped for the back door ever since)! The Italian continued to bawl, crying out various means of surrender.

"_Mon cheri_!" came the French voice from before. "We have a slight problem down here!"

The man beside him groaned, placing his forehead in his palm. "Oh, to hell with it! Keep your eyes peeled, Vargas. We won't let you off the hook so easily next time." And, with those final words, the man (whom Feliciano had decidedly dubbed as British) shoved the Italian back to the floor and strode furiously out the door, down the stairs, and back outside, leaving the mansion's vicinity in full argument with his accomplices.

And Feliciano Vargas, appropriately, screamed to the high heavens.

********

"A-Aah, Antonio! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Lovino demanded, slapping his fiancée's hand away from his face, which had begun to heat up into a deeper shade of crimson. The peculiar couple leaned against the headboard of the Spaniard's bed, back at his home in the marketplace. Antonio grinned devilishly, continuing to caress his lover's cheek, despite the failed protests.

"Oh, come now. Isn't it obvious?" he questioned, raising a brunette eyebrow.

Lovino, however, rejected this motion blatantly, crossing his arms and once more swatting away the hand on his flesh. "Your parents are right down the hall, you idiot! You think I'm gonna just-" His voice was abruptly interrupted by a vigorous vibration from within his pants pocket. He gave a slight, barely audible "Uwah-"of surprise and reached into his pocket for the phone.

"Oh, let me get it!" Antonio reached forward as well, shoving his hand in before his companion could get the opportunity. Lovino released a cry of disapproval, eyes ablaze in condemnation at the Spaniard's hand shuffling around for his lover's cell phone, resulting in a quick yip from the Italian at the indirect contact with the side of his thigh. He mentally thanked himself for having enough sense to avoid putting his phone into his back pocket before departing from his old estate. Antonio really _couldn't_ read the atmosphere, sometimes, a quality that reminded Lovino a bit too much of his younger brother.

"Ah! There it is!" The Spaniard whisked out the pulsating cell phone, handing it over to his fiancée with a stupid smile on his face.

"Oh, give me that! Honestly… hello?"

"_Lovino_!"

"Argh!" the older Vargas sibling yelled, holding the phone away from himself in agony as the shrill voice of Feliciano sounded from the other side, deafening him in one ear. "What the fuck, Feli?! What-"

"Help me~! Lovino, someone broke in! There were a lot of them, and they sounded _really_ scary! Ah, what should I do?"

"Someone broke in? But there are three and a half sec- _Chigigi!_ Damn it, Antonio!"

"I know! Three and a half security systems! I'm afraid! I don't wanna die~!"

"J-Just… Just calm down, Feliciano. That ad I gave you earlier? Hire a personal bodyguard or something. Actually, go ahead and hire a few servants and a couple of cooks, too. Make sure they know some sort of combat-"

The phone on the other line cut off hastily. A slightly frazzled expression on his face, Lovino returned his attention towards his fiancée, gritting his teeth together in the utmost irritation. "Explain to me _why_ you felt it was necessary to mess with my hair curl while I was on the phone with my brother?"

Antonio gave another smile before flicking the light off, bidding him a final goodnight.

* * *

A/N: Eh, I'll have to leave it there. My God, I started this fic about a week ago; it never takes me this long to finish something! Curse you, procrastination! Expect the next chapter soon-ish, assuming you all give me your feedback. Unless this becomes really popular, this will probably get updated less than my other stories. If you want to see more of this, please **review, criticize, and compliment**. And feel free to insert your input! Feliciano's harder to write about than I thought, but it's so entertaining! This should be and will be the last new series to come from me for a while.

Check out my other Hetalia stories as well! I write for a variety of fandom…


	2. Secret Intentions

Arthur Kirkland peered around the doorframe of a long-abandoned Italian inn, assuring himself of its barren emptiness before beckoning for the rest of his comrades to follow in close pursuit of their leader. He whisked away the drapery that veiled over the doorway, which shielded all light and whatnot from reaching beyond its intended source, and flung it back over in a hurried anger. He withdrew a match from his pocket, striking it against the wall and lighting it aglow with a warm flame, slowly licking its way down the pencil-thin wood. Arthur, assuring himself that his gloved hand had not fallen victim to singe, dipped his hand into a lamp propped upon the wall, brushing the flame to the candle within and lighting the room with a dim glow. This building in particular had been abandoned for nearly one hundred years, having been used in the earlier stages of Italian civilization, thus many of the technological disadvantages of the previous generations had failed to make their presence in such a peasant's inn. The lighting would have been the first thing to improve upon, had they acquired any sort of money in their escapade mere hours ago. Alas, as it was, the group of rebels remained steadfastly broke, and would continue their meager lives in such a way, lest they receive a handsome amount of cash in the near future.

"That was… kind of pointless, da?" Ivan muttered, tossing his crowbar to the ground and clambering on over to the old bar, nestled in the room adjacent to the front of the building. As it was, an inn of such unimportance had been mildly used, and thus had very few rooms, barely enough to accommodate their own group. The Russian man fished through the cabinets, removing a half-empty bottle of vodka, which had begun to lose its shimmer in its aged state. Regardless of such trivial matters, Ivan flung his head back, vodka bottle enclosed in his lips, and slugged down a few gulps before joining the group back in the front.

"_Kind of pointless?_" Feliks repeated, banging his head against his fist in a drowsy irritancy. "That was totally a waste of time! _And _we blew our cover!"

Arthur, the obvious ringleader of the assemblage, gritted his teeth, emerald eyes ablaze in a passionate rage. "Don't take such a defeat so lightly!" he snapped, voice heavily accented with an English fervor. "This was utterly humiliating! I've never seen such absurdity in all of years of combat! When infiltrating a building, you aren't to make a sound. You aren't to begin quarreling amongst yourselves, and for god's sake, you _aren't_ to use your real names! We will begin preparations in the morning, and I suggest you all rise with the sun, lest you want to be thrown out with the trash." Huffing as he unsheathed his knife and placed it on the end table, Arthur ran a hand through his unkempt blonde hair and sighed in utter defeat. "I'm going out back to bathe. Yao, you're in charge until I get back."

"R-Right," the Chinese man replied, giving a slightly hesitant nod. The Englishman returned the head motion curtly and staggered out the back door and to the pond about a mile from the hideout. Running water was most certainly unacceptable, as they hadn't the money to pay for it, nor did they attain the patience to deal with the government as to why the rebels weren't paying any sort of mortgage.

Francis sighed, hand reaching absentmindedly for the knife on the tabletop. "Completely clean, as usual. Oh, _mon cheri_, how can you expect to lead us if you fear drawing the blood of another man?" he muttered, intended for no one in particular.

"Man, what's Arthur's problem?" Feliks mumbled, slouching in his seat on the half-shredded sofa. "He's, like, so caught up in his own little world that we can't pay any attention. And we're always getting blamed for it! It's totally unreasonable!"

"That's true, aru," Yao admitted, taking a seat beside the Polish boy. "But you have to remember that Arthur has been through more than most of us. And I'm sure he has a perfectly good reason for wanting to thieve from and murder the Vargas', aru." _Even if he won't tell us his intentions…_

Feliks gave a little grunt, revealing none of his true emotions about the matter, and instead swiveled his body to face Ivan, who was preoccupied staring aimlessly out the window, up at the glittering heavens above. "Hey, Ivan? Since you only joined a few days ago, why not let us in on your story?"

The Russian's eyes glinted with a murderous intent, though his somewhat sadistic smile remained plastered on his face. "I was mistakenly jailed for murder. I firmly believed my innocence, regardless of their so-called "proof", and escaped across the border about a month ago. Eventually, I wound up here. Ah, court justice these days is really something, da~? Unless, of course, you really _do_ believe that I murdered that "defenseless" girl back in Moscow?"

"O-Of course not! Let's not get hasty…" Feliks stuttered nervously, hands rising up in surrender.

Francis rose from his spot on the ground, disheveling his hair in exhaustion. "Eh, I think I should go check on Arthur. I should return shortly." The Frenchman retreated from the room without awaiting a response from the rest of their improbable crowd.

Footsteps ever-light against the crunch of decaying grass beneath his bare feet, Arthur stepped reluctantly from the pool of water, dabbing at his soaked body with a dank towel. A gentle sigh escaped his lips, slow and monotonous, as he shivered at the nippy air against his lithe, naked form and wrapped the towel around his waist, approaching his garments, which sat folded up against a bush nearby.

"And where do you think you're going, dressed like that?" Francis Bonnefoy loomed over to the Brit, crouching low to pick up his leader's clothing. "Don't get me wrong, _mon cheri_, I'm not complaining. This is a rather nice view, to be honest."

"Oh, sod off, you pervert…" Arthur grumbled feebly; his face reddening ever-so-slightly as he snatched his garbs back from the Frenchman's hands, which now took their time traveling up the Briton's bare back, fingertips brushing against the smooth flesh beneath. Arthur pushed him away lightly, willing the intimacy away for the time being. "And I never accepted you as a potential romance, so you'd better bloody listen to me!"

"Oh, but you can be so hard to resist sometimes," Francis mumbled huskily, reaching over to trace the outline of the Englshman's collarbone, receiving a prompt slap on the forearm.

"I said bugger off!" Arthur brought his hand back, perhaps in self-defense, on the considerably high chance of his underling attempting something unseemly again. "I'll punch your jaw so hard next time you'll never kiss another woman again!"

"But I do not wish to kiss a woman right now…" Francis advanced, taking Arthur by slight surprise, and caught one hand around his waist, one dangerously sinking down from the spot on his lower back. "They aren't as fun as you can be." With a mischievous smirk, the Frenchman leaned the younger man back and planted a zealous kiss onto his lips, chapped from the bitter winter chill. Arthur gasped in an unintentional mingle of lust and detest, and ended up elbowing his underling in the chin as a tongue lashed out to hungrily claim the Brit's mouth.

Francis stumbled backward, falling to the ground and rubbing his aching jaw, mumbling incoherent French swears. Arthur towered over him, gleam of ferocity striking his green gaze, lips swollen from the vigor of the kiss. "Do that again, Bonnefoy, and I swear I will make you regret it." He stormed off, slipping on his clothes all the while.

Francis smirked, fingers still tenderly stroking his bruising chin. "We'll see."

********

Ludwig Beilschmidt leaned idly against the firm wood of the kitchen chair, letting loose a dreary sigh as his sapphire eyes gazed absentmindedly at the ceiling above. Within the solid grasp of the young man's left hand was a somewhat damp newspaper, moistened from the bitter cold rain outside and slowly disintegrating in the unyielding grasp; clutched in his right hand was a mug of freshly-brewed coffee, courtesy of his older brother, Gilbert, who now slept soundly in the bedroom nearest the kitchen, gentle snores erupting from behind his tightly-shut door. Ludwig persisted in his everlasting stare-down with the ceiling, stopping only once to direct his gaze to his mug, bringing its heated contents upwards to fleshy pink lips before lowering it once more and relaxing his broad shoulders. He placed the slightly decomposed newspaper upon the kitchen table, raising his free hand to tousle his vividly-blonde hair in unease. An uncomfortable silence clung desperately onto the atmosphere, disconcerting the young man in surprise at the abrupt cease of his brother's inhumane snoring. It was predominantly bizarre for Gilbert to wake at such an "unseemly time", and the fact that his brother had made the motion to crack the door slightly ajar made it all the more peculiar.

Gilbert Beilschmidt trudged into the kitchen, slumberous daze lingering in his normally-wild crimson eyes as he staggered towards the counter, whisking off a mug of coffee for himself and plopping down lazily into the chair beside his brother, lips parting in an obnoxious yawn. A single strand of platinum hair dangled freely in his face, a hand rising to batter it away begrudgingly. The older man slumped back into the seat, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his throbbing temples in burden. "Damned hangovers…" he grumbled, slugging down a swig of coffee and likely burning his mouth in the process.

Ludwig cast a sidelong glance at his brother, shaking his head gently before returning his solemn gaze to the newspaper before him, spread out upon the tabletop as oceanic eyes scanned its various contents. T'was the International Weekly, or rather the "Wöchentlich Internationalen" in his native language, a paper of the utmost obscurity, of which you never knew quite what until you thoroughly examined its contents. "Hmm," he grumbled, a rather quiet man in the morning. "Nothing too exciting going on in the world today, it seems…"

"Oh, honestly, Ludwig!" Gilbert scoffed, hands still clutching his forehead in all of its unrelenting throbbing. "All you ever do is read that newspaper! Get a hobby, pick up a girlfriend, or find a fucking job! It's driving me insane, and probably all of Germany by now…"

_Just because you stayed out drinking too long doesn't mean you should take it out on the people around you…_ Ludwig thought, dismally glancing away. "You're right, I know. I've needed a decent job since I returned from the war overseas… Nothing seems to catch my interest." He sipped the beverage once more, wincing at the bittersweet flavoring of the hazelnut liquor that had been stirred in previously. "Last week, the only available job requests were a maid at some English manor and a mechanical technician over in Osaka." Needless to say, such occupations were far from what Ludwig considered to be substantial, taking into account the fact that they weren't particularly interest-sparking. The very inkling of the idea of him as an English maid sent unwilling shudders down his tensing spine as he flipped through the pages, eyes flitting to the "Help Wanted" ad in nonchalant curiosity.

"Right there, see?" Gilbert snapped, jabbing a shaky finger at one individual occupation offering, a job deep in the heart of India. "That sounds like it would fit you to a fault."

Ludwig groaned, placing his head in his calloused palm in frustration as he reread the advertisement. "Gilbert, I'm _not _applying for a job as a personal masseur for some fifty-year-old man!" Rolling his eyes in aggravation at his brother's hangover-driven antics, the younger man took a quick glance further down the column, a certain occupation catching his eye. "A bodyguard, huh? Not really my style… and it's some aristocrat from Italy? Italy, of all places? Noblemen haven't lived there for years…"

"Oh, come on, Ludwig! Live a little! You'd make a _perfect_ bodyguard!" Gilbert persisted mockingly, guffawing obnoxiously into the crook of his elbow as he propped his chin up on his knuckles. "Need I remind you that you were _kicked out_ of the army? You didn't resign, you dolt, you were all but given a restraining order."

"That only happened because-"

"Because you allowed someone to drug you before battle, I know. My point is that this would be the perfect opportunity for you to reclaim your title! Okay, maybe not, but either way, have you looked at the salary offering? Hell,_ I_ would accept the job for that amount of money!"

_Then why don't you…?_ Ludwig brought the mug back towards his lips, allowing the last, warm drips of coffee to scald his throat on the way down before glancing half-heartedly at the paper and nearly spluttering it all out. "Th-That's…" He gulped in anxiety, a tremor of pure exhilaration jolting through his body as he spied the salary that the rich Italian had offered.

_1.2 mil €_

Gilbert smirked, though in his agony it appeared more as a grimace, and grunted in contention. "Wanna take the job yet?"

* * *

A/N: Eh, sorry for the sort of abrupt shortness of this chapter. I sort of hit a roadblock with this one, as the next chapter would have been much too long compared the the length of the previous one. The next will introduce more characters, as well as some more of the plotline. Feel free to request appearances from characters!

**R&R, please! Critique, criticism, and compliments all welcome!**


	3. Of Tomatoes and Scalding Oneself

"Ve?" Feliciano mumbled, thinly-trimmed auburn eyebrows rising in mild confusion. "You mean you're both here to apply for a job?"

"You bet, Mr. Vargas!" proclaimed a rather obnoxious voice from before the Italian. In the doorway stood two men, nearly identical in appearance- twins, Feliciano had decided. One of them, the taller of the two and the one who had spoken, leaned nonchalantly against the cleanly-glossed doorframe, finger pushing his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. He beheld a striking sapphire gaze, only intensified by the slim black rims of his glasses. The man's attire seemed a bit too casual for the situation; saddled upon his back was an aged, tan bomber jacket, draped over his broad shoulders in an informal fashion. However, beneath said jacket, he was also clad in a decently-tailored black suit.

His companion held so much unbelievable comparison to the other that Feliciano had the utmost difficulty guessing which would apply, thus the conclusion that both were signing up for the job. The companion had slightly longer ginger hair, as opposed to the shorter caramel blond of his twin, and his eyes were a shade more violet, but these facts aside they were identical. Well, the other man clearly refused to wear anything too unceremonious for his application, and wore a simple suit and tie. A little curl, similar to the Italian's, dangled neatly away from his face. "Hello, sir," he muttered, though Feliciano was forced to strain himself to even attempt to hear this man's inaudibly soft voice. "My name is Matthew Williams, and this is my brother, Alfred Jones… He is from America, and I am from Canada."

"Aw, Mattie! You just ruined my first impression!" Alfred whined, but beamed a smile in his new boss's direction, flashing him a glimpse of perfectly straight, white teeth. "But, yes, my name is Alfred… Alfred Franklin Jones, if you want to be all fancy about it. I mean, I don't know much about you rich types-"

"Alfred!" Matthew hissed in embarrassment, proceeding forward into the front hall and holding out a hand to his new employer. "I'm sorry about him, really. Might I ask your name?"

"Ah, I'm Feliciano Vargas! You don't have to call me "boss" or anything, just Feliciano's fine." He smiled warmly, if not somewhat stupidly, and skipped into the kitchen. "I have some lasagna in the oven! Want any?"

Matthew coughed into his fist, nudging Alfred with his elbow. The American grunted at his brother's sudden moodiness and took a hesitant step forward. "So, Miste- er, Feliciano? Are we going to have an interview or something?"

"Nope!" he said happily, pulling open the oven door and reaching a hand in for the lasagna. "You're hired!"

"R-Really?" Matthew stuttered, smiling in a gentle anxiety; after all, what sensible employer would hire some random foreigners in the blink of an eye? "But you don't even know what occupation we're applying for yet! We're-"

"Uwah~!" Feliciano cried out in agony, withdrawing his hand from the oven with tears of pain streaming down his cheeks. The long, slender fingers were now dappled with a reddening burn as the Italian stuck his hand desperately into the sink, twisting the faucet knob and allowing icy water to trickle across his tender flesh. He sniffled, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.

_He forgot to put on oven mitts…_ Matthew shook his head, sighing softly. Just what he needed- another Alfred. "You're lucky that I came here to apply for a position in the medical field. I know basic first aid, and I'm pretty good at cleaning and whatnot. Let me have a look at your hand."

Feliciano whimpered, placing his hand lightly atop the counter, wincing as the Canadian picked it up into his own grasp to further examine it. "Ve… So you're like a maid?"

"N-No!" Matthew sighed in exasperation, returning his attention to his brother. "Alfred, do something useful and grab a few bandages from my briefcase."

"Sure thing, Mattie!" And with those final words, the American bolted off.

"O-Ow, it hurts~!" Feliciano choked back a few more tears, flinching as Matthew's chilly fingers draped themselves over his burn. "Oh… my lasagna's gonna burn, too. Lovino would be so mad at me…"

"Lovino?"

"Ve, Lovino's my older brother! He moved out a few days ago to live with his fiancée, Antonio. They're getting married in a few months!"

Matthew's face fell, a somber aura engulfing his entirety. "Marriage, huh? Hm. I hope…" His voice gave a brief tremble. "I hope that everything works out for them alright. Marriage can be somewhat… difficult."

"Hm? Have you been married?"

"Once. Truth be told, my name_ should_ be Matthew Jones, now. However, since my divorce from my lover, I have yet to accept my old name back. Suppose it's just stuck with me."

"But… how old _are_ you?"

"Twenty. I married much too young. Oh, confound it, Alfred! What's taking so long?" he shouted down the hall, grimacing at the shrill clatter of shattering glass that echoed from beyond the kitchen. No response sounded from the other room. "Alfred?" he called out once more. The only remaining noises were the ticking of the grandfather clock and the whining erupting from Feliciano's trembling lips. "I'm sorry, sir, just wait here." With those final words, Matthew stood from his spot on the barstool and readjusted his glasses upon his nose, boots clacking against the unique marble flooring as he proceeded into the front hall once more.

The sight that appeared before his eyes, however, certainly was not what he had previously anticipated. Alfred stood, a perplexed horror plastered upon his face, azure eyes gawking at an object upon the floor. Following his gaze, the Canadian glanced downward as well and felt a gasp hitch in his throat, threatening to emit in the form of a distresses shriek. A knife stood erect in the light of the setting sun, a glint cast upon the floor beyond by its tarnished blade, stabbing into the carpet below. Surrounding its form splayed a mosaic of gleaming glass shards, millions of little sharp edges jutting out upon the floor. Alfred stood in the middle of them, panting heavily in alarm, unwavering in fear of the jagged debris cutting into his own flesh.

And, pinned beneath the serrated end of the blade, a tomato was held in place against the floor. Matthew said nothing, did nothing, and comprehended nothing, as his gaze averted to his brother once more before allowing it to follow the hilt of the knife, which had been tainted with dark crimson splotches. "T…Tomato juice?" he managed to utter, voice nearly inaudible.

Alfred inhaled sharply, bending down to remove the weapon from its vessel in the carpet. Hesitantly, he brought the hilt up to his face and gave a little sniff. "No…" he muttered, wide grin long since dissipated. "It's not."

"My God…" Matthew tore his gaze away, meeting the horror-stricken eyes of his new master.

"L-L-Lovino?" Feliciano piped, spotting the gouged tomato lying on the ground, its juices seeping out onto the glass-covered floor. Romano had always had a thing for tomatoes. "Is he…?" All but negligent of his burn wound, the rich Italian screamed out in terror and raced back into the kitchen, tears streaking his face once more. Ignoring the sharp sting it brought his burnt hand, he latched his grasp onto the telephone hanging upon the wall and dialed his brother's number, desperation shimmering in his eyes. Matthew and Alfred watched from afar, a pang of empathy striking them both rather crudely in the chest as the master of the household all but broke down in panic and anguish.

The phone rang once.

It rang twice.

It rang thrice. And upon the fourth ring, Lovino's voice sounded.

Feliciano's face glowed, radiant as the morning sun after a long night of dreary gloom. "L-Lovino! I was so afraid-"

"You have reached Lovino Vargas. I can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message after the beep. If you don't, then why the hell did you even bother calling?" The ever-ominous beep blared out from the other end, struck Feliciano's heart once, and the phone promptly hit the floor.

"F…Feliciano…?" Matthew whispered, shivering from the chills of trepidation within. "Are you… are you alright, sir? Would you like me to get you a seat?"

"V-Ve… My lasagna's burning! Get out of the way!" he exclaimed, dashing forward and towards the oven. A cloud of black smoke buffeted out of the door as the Italian nobleman grabbed an oven mitt and retracted the pan of blackened pasta from the heat. "Oh no, it's completely crisp. Hm… I know! I'll make some more!" And, with a skip in his step and a grin on his face, Feliciano proceeded towards the pantry.

Matthew stood, absolutely and undeniably dumbfounded. Had the man just forgotten about his brother's possible endangerment? Or was he possibly even more naïve and oblivious than the American, and honestly believed that Lovino was doing just peachy? He groaned inwardly, praying and wishing with every fiber of his being that another servant sign up with a semi-tolerable personality. "Ah, wait, Master. I really should bandage your arm first…"

"Ah! Okay!" Feliciano smiled and handed his burned fingers to Matthew, allowing the Canadian to skillfully enfold the white medical bandages over the raw flesh. "I'm not worried about Lovino. He's a big boy; he can take care of himself. Besides, he has Antonio!"

"I hope so," Alfred murmured into his sleeve, wiping a milk moustache from his upper lip as he raided the refrigerator. "Whoa, I've never seen so much food in my life! Lobster, wine… No way, is that tiramisu?!"

"Uh huh!" Feliciano stated gleefully, placing a white chef's hat upon his head, cautious to avoid his curl. "You can have some if you want!"

"What, really? Oh, thanks, Feli!" Alfred withdrew a fork from the table and stabbed mercilessly into the dessert, a blissful smile gracing his cream-laced lips. "Mhmm… This comes in a close second behind hamburgers."

The Italian smiled again and laughed contentedly. "I made it myself! I like that nickname, too! So, what are you here to be?"

"Either a chef or a butler, but you seem to have the food-making thing figured out!"

Matthew rolled his eyes mildly, a bit disconcerted with the fact that his brother and their employer were hitting it off. The more that he considered each fact, however, the more sense it made; after all, both had a blatant love for food and cuisine, and they both seemed clearly oblivious to the real world.

All the same, as Feliciano and Alfred conversed back and forth like old familiar, Matthew couldn't help but feel a certain sense of anxiety as his gaze darted back to the tomato on the floor. Oh, how genuinely did he wish to believe his master… Even so, the last thing he desired to experience was the torment and anguish that would accompany the possibly inevitable death of Lovino Vargas.

And it seemed a troublesome thing to believe that anything alternate had happened to the poor older Vargas boy.

********

Ludwig Beilschmidt leaned contentedly against the cushioned seat of the airplane, emitting a deep, fatigued sigh as he gazed distantly out the window. They would surely be approaching the Italian airport within the next half-hour or so, and thus would begin the start of life anew for the German man. This, of course, indicated that his_ bonding_ time- which usually consisted of either bickering or drinking- with Gilbert would be limited to about once a year, if that. It all depended solely on how much his skills were truly necessary for this Italian aristocrat whom he was to work under.

His mind shifted focuses, instead lingering on the topic of his to-be master. What sort of man, he couldn't help but wonder, would he be employed by? A rich Italian nobleman… surely that assured him as the organized, neat type. The last thing he preferred was to work under the authority of a complete slob, as he had already endured years of that with his brother around. Or perhaps the man would be old, wise, all-knowing… This could also be taken as unwelcoming, as well, as the image of a flabby old guy walking around naked as if it were a regular act ran rampart through his mind. A shuddering tremor traveled down his spine and distributed itself throughout the rest of his body, raising goose bumps along his pale skin.

What were the odds of his employer being a little child? Ludwig found it incredibly unlikely, though would doubt absolutely nothing after what he had been through in the past few years. Perhaps the master _would _be a child, and he would have to cater to every childish whim of an eight-year-old, regardless of its stupidity. The more he pondered these ideas, the more he found himself dreading the arrival. His palms began to clam up with beads of sweat, his teeth gritting in effort to restrain any signs of anxiety. Such emotional displays were against his nature, though he often found it difficult to withhold them in times of extreme discomfort.

_This is ridiculous…_ he thought to himself, placing his head firmly in his dampening palms. _Get a grip on yourself, Ludwig. He's probably a normal guy, a decade or so older than you. After all, he needs a bodyguard, so he must be at an impractical age to defend himself. Of course, this would also back up the idea of him being a child…_ Oh, the agonizing headache that possessed his mind! He couldn't think logically, nor could he focus on anything other than his future master. He knew not how long this would take, and such ludicrous implications were driving him up the wall.

At last, after about five minutes of mental quarrels, his brain calmed itself, allowing his eyelids to slip shut in a fatigued rest. Silence followed, peacefully allowing him to drift into a comfortable sleep…

… _What if he turns out to be a pedophile? Or a rapist? Or-_

_Oh, damn it all!_

Well, almost.

At last, the all-too-cheerful woman's voice rang out from above his head, announcing that the plane was to land soon. Ludwig groaned, wincing at the continuous thoughts echoing on through his head.

…_Or an escaped convict? Or maybe a ventriloquist? Or perhaps a traveling carny?_

As the thoughts grew more and more bizarre and outlandish, the plane's wheels met the ground with a jolt, giving Ludwig reason to bite his lip.

And so his life in Italia would begin.

* * *

A/N: Ah, I burnt the roof of my mouth on pizza a few minutes after writing Feli's burn scene. Oh, how I hate karma… And what happened to poor Lovino? Keep reading to find out!

Anyway, gimme your input! Greatly appreciated! And if you like romantic semi-crack, check out my collab project with Sakura Getsu, "Tears of Venus". It's, like, a chain reaction of couples. You'll see, once the next few chapters are up.

**R&R!**


	4. The Melancholic Grandeur of Life

A/N: This had a rating change, mostly for language and blood purposes. No smut in this chapter, sorry! xD Lemme know if it didn't have to be changed, but I felt it was necessary, in the long run.

*cough* Anyone else notice how Bruce Wayne's butler's name is Alfred? This was completely unintentional, I swear! 0.0

I don't own Hetalia or Bruce Wayne (nor Batman, for that matter).

* * *

"Th-This is…" Ludwig stuttered, wholly and irrefutably astounded as the dreary grey taxi cab pulled up to a gargantuan manor. In all honesty, the German had the utmost difficulty in simply uttering any comprehendible words, let alone forming coherent sentences. All lucidity had fled from his mind, it seemed, as he shoved a few dollars at the cab driver and grabbed the leathery handle of his largest suitcase. Reluctantly, and still gawking in awe at the vast size of his soon-to-be residency, his gloved hand forced the door of the vehicle open, stepping a single foot out before turning back to the driver and stating a simple, polite "thank you". He maneuvered the rest of his body out of the cab and shut the door with much more vigor than originally intended, though hadn't the opportunity to apologize before the taxi driver sped away in a hurried frenzy. Ludwig took no visible notice of such trivial matters, however, as he proceeded to gape in incredulity at the mansion.

The Vargas manor, at 842 Violetta, was certainly the proud product of vigorously-spent laboring years, what with its precisely-laid white masonry and the unique way that the building itself seemed to flow with the rise and fall of the land. Not that it was at all unlevel- it merely carved its way across the damp terrain upon which it stood. A single pathway, long and curving along the grassy field with its natural revolutions, led the way welcomingly up to the principal entrance, marked by towering dual doors coupled with regal gothic carvings. Whomever the architectural genius was who had built such a grand mansion had clearly attained some sort of divine love for the Medieval Ages, what with the archaic style of the patterns and fabrics used about the outdoor décor. However, one could clearly assume that someone with fresher taste had full residency in said manor, as a few little trinkets and decorations all but screamed "complete modernist". Nonetheless, Ludwig most certainly would not be jumping to any more bizarre conclusions; after all, this man's brother had only just recently moved out, and very well could have left bits and pieces of himself behind with the house.

And then a particular flaw in the seemingly-ideal residency caught the attention of the German. Upon further inspection of the rightmost window, he noticed that a sizeable area of the glass had been shattered, and in its place resided a newly-obtained gap. _What on earth could have happened here?_ he wondered curiously, a bit unnerved at the thought of a break-and-entering. Ludwig _had _applied for this job as a bodyguard, but he never assumed that his first duties would begin the first day on the job. It was deeply unsettling, to be honest. Nevertheless, the German sucked in his gut and approached the door. Tapping upon the smoothly-sanded wood gently with his knuckle, he impatiently and restlessly awaited the arrival of his new master to the door.

Well, to say that the man who answered his edgy knocking wasn't in the least whom he expected to see is a complete understatement. The man to open the door appeared no older than twenty, if that, with tousled caramel-blonde hair and a rather enticing cowlick sticking up in the front, at his part. His eyes, though a vivacious sapphire, appeared somewhat distraught, as though he had just witnessed the arrival of a ghost as opposed to a German bodyguard, and his spectacles dangling crookedly off the bridge of his nose. Not to sound imprudent, or to sound discourteous in the slightest, but Ludwig honestly believed this man to be "off his rocker", if you will- perhaps a drug addict or something. Though currently unsure of its origin, one thing was for certain; this young blonde was seriously disturbed.

"U-Um, yes, hello, sir," Ludwig managed to verbalize, mind drawing a veil over all logical reasoning. "Am I to assume you to be the master of this residency?" The German had prepared a lengthy address for his new master, but not once had he even considered his boss to be a twenty-year-old crack-head.

"Hnnngh?" slurred the other man, leaning his full weight against his arm, which rested firmly against the doorframe. "Oh, you mean Feli? No, he's still in the kitchen, fixing dinner. Are you the new bodyguard?"

Oh, thank the high heavens that this bizarre man wasn't his master! "Er, yes, I am. May I come in and speak with Feliciano Vargas?"

"Sure thing!" The bespectacled one's façade transformed in a split-second, startling even Ludwig out of his serious attitude, as a wide grin spread like an infectious disease across his face. "I'm Alfred, by the way- Alfred F. Jones! I'm the butler around here, you know. And I- _Oh_!" His face contorted into one of major ache once more. "Oh, why did I eat so much tiramisu? Urgh… I feel so nauseous…"

Another man stood beyond the main corridor, gazing down the hall at the German and the American. "Oh, Alfred! Stop bothering the poor man with your pity complaints! Come on in, sir, and don't mind my brother- he's American." Ah, that explained it.

Ludwig nodded curtly, briskly making his way into the manor and gawping in wonder for the third time that day. He thought it not possible, but he had, yet again, been proven wrong (perhaps this was the main origin of his pessimism), for the inside outlay of the mansion was perchance, even more startlingly elegant than the outer display.

Dangling above his head were multiple chandeliers, crystalloid appendages glimmering magnificently in the light of the sun pouring in from the display of glass that replaced the ceiling (presumably stronger than normal glass, for what was one to do about hail and whatnot?). The flooring upon which they stood was not the average carpet, nor was it your everyday tiling or wood paneling; it was composed entirely of a dappled white marble, unscathed and preserved astoundingly. The room in its entirety was a marvel, very likely the eighth wonder of the world, and he had yet to see the remainder of the mansion.

"Alfred! Is he here?" called a rather obnoxious voice from beyond Ludwig's field of vision. Surely that couldn't be the voice of his new boss? No, it was entirely impossible.

"Yeah, Feli! Leave your pizza for now and come meet 'im!" Alfred shouted back, cupping a hand up to his mouth to further enunciate his voice. So… that insufferable voice _had_ belonged to his master…

"Okay~!" Feliciano replied cheerily, with an almost sickening naivety, and entered the corridor with the others and into the full view of the German.

Ludwig, to put it bluntly, stared. Perhaps it was rude, perhaps it was uncouth… but he stared nevertheless. How could he not? Never had he pondered the idea of his master being a twenty-year-old man of such an… _uncanny_ appearance. Feliciano Vargas stood about five-foot-seven-inches, one-hundred-and-seventy-two centimeters, one-thousand-twenty millimeters, if we're getting particular. The Italian aristocrat was nothing short of gangly, especially when compared to the German himself, and much leaner. Feliciano beheld a childishly-innocent gleam in his amber gaze, an equally ridiculous look plastered on his face; his head was cocked to the side like a curious puppy, and his grin had faltered into an open-mouthed gawk. And then there was that hair-! Never had he expected the Italian's hair to be auburn in color, nor did he anticipate the flamboyant curl that protruded from his part. Ludwig said nothing, did nothing. All he could do was stare.

An equally flabbergasted Italian raised a trembling arm, pointing a lanky index finger in the German's general direction, and uttered a little word. One single word, and yet it seemed to sum up, in a nutshell, what had just passed telepathically through their minds.

"Ve…?"

********

The fading pulse, the spilling crimson, the hazy blur of vision. Such thoughts remained all that the older Vargas brother could comprehend in the split-second horror that ensued upon his departure from Italy. He and his fiancée had been residing in Spain for a mere three days, and in that amount of time, so much had managed to occur.

Lovino ran. He knew not his destination, nor was he aware of his surroundings, nor had he any idea where in this godforsaken country he was. All he had grasped in the past hour or so was the factual reality that had struck with the chime of the grandfather clock- he and Antonio were in dire peril.

But… from where did this peril spring? Had it blossomed out of a mere whim, an act of haste and illogical being? Or, was it perhaps something more? An act against the family, or perhaps against the nation as a whole? The Italian remained unsure of such, and would continue to do so, his only thoughts centered upon his lover, who was draped, unconscious, over the shorter man's shoulders.

"Antonio…" Lovino choked out, gritting his teeth in dread. As the two neared the cover of a canopying tree, the Italian removed his companion's firm hold around his shoulders and leaned him gently against the grass. "Damn it, you idiot!" he cursed under his breath, inhalation hitching at the sight of his wounded, vulnerable lover. "Damn it!" he shouted once more, pounding a fist against the trunk of the tree. "Damn it…"

A heavy gust picked up, whipping his auburn hair in every which direction and tousling its already-disheveled locks. Said breeze continued its tirade across the fields of Spain, finally lashing out against a wooden door just beyond the hillside. Lovino's ears caught sound of the noise, and his head swiveled around in alarm, only to find shelter in their path- an old church, likely abandoned long ago by the migratory villagers that inhabited in this sector of Spain. Such thoughts, however, were soon disproven as, in the shadowy veil of night, a single glow hummed warmly from beyond the cracked door.

Lovino hoisted his fiancée back upon his shoulders, groaning lightly at the Spaniard's uncanny size, and proceeded towards the church, the threatening rush of time elapsing by the second. "Hey? Anyone here? Help me, please! My friend here has been injured!" Hurriedly, the Vargas boy trudged wearily past the pivoting wooden door, completely disregarding the holy atmosphere which hung around in the air like a consuming fog. Lovino dropped Antonio hastily upon a pew, laying him on his back and placing his arm in the Italian's trembling hands.

"Antonio, you idiot…" he muttered glumly, stripping the man of his sweaty, blood-caked shirt and throwing it aside in impatience. The Spaniard's bare shoulder was almost entirely drenched in a thick coat of blood, a scarlet pool welling up from the bullet hole upon the top of his arm. Another wound, though much less serious, had been caused by a separate gunshot- the bullet had nicked Antonio in the jaw, and though it, too, bled down his neck, it ceased to pour as profusely as that upon his shoulder. A stinging sensation swelled within Lovino's throat, fingers shaking much more violently than before as he got to work.

Using much less force than he was at all accustomed to, Lovino nudged Antonio's arm above his head, his first attempt at slowing the bleeding. Swallowing loudly, the Italian then advanced, ripping the Spaniard's scarf- as it was much sheerer and tore easier than his own clothing- and wrapping the first bit tightly around his lower arm, then another around the top of his torso to halt the access amount of blood which spilled with each rapid pulsation of his heart- a heart which Lovino had once revered with the utmost tenderness (at least, as much as he could muster up without gagging). Stomach clenching at the sickening stench of blood that swam into his nostrils and now smothered his hands, the older Vargas boy took the last fragment of cloth and secured it snugly around the actual wound itself. The risk factors were endless, still, but this would at least prolong the inevitable, until they could find a substantial hospital.

"Never take a bullet for me again, you selfless bastard…" he uttered, disregarding the fact that they were in a church, and wiped a worried tear hurriedly from his eye, face flushed at the exposure that had accompanied his emotions. His hand lingered upon his own cheek, smearing a bit of his lover's blood upon the pinking flesh, before reaching over hesitantly to stroke that of Antonio's. The latter's cheek was so different from his own- pale as the moon, which held complete contrast the his usual tan glow- and yet so similar all the same. Never had he expected the Spaniard to force himself between the Italian and a bullet, a foolish act of "bravery", but one that Lovino could both envy and detest.

All the same, it was incredulously unnerving- this meant that, for an unknown reason, some anonymous man or woman had attempted to murder the Vargas man. But who, and for what did they strive? Surely they were not the same bunch that had attempted to infiltrate the old estate, back in Italy? He could think of no reasons why anyone would be out for their throats, but they had to be stopped, whoever they were. If not…

A pair of emerald eyes peered behind heavy lashes, meeting his own hazel gaze in an agonized gleam. "A-Antonio!" Lovino cried out, though made no effort to remove his hand from the gut-wrenchingly-pale cheek of his lover. "You're-!"

"Ungh…" the Spaniard had managed to utter before his consciousness slipped away once more, weak from lack of blood. And, yet, in that split second of awareness, Antonio had allowed a soft smile to grace his lips, a grin that brought the Italian to tears once more, who, this time only, would allow them to fall freely down his blood-streaked cheeks.

The blasted idiot…

********

A/N: Sorry to leave ya there, guys, but the next chapter will have much more in it, promise!

What happened to poor Antonio? Gwah, so sad… Anyway, please leave me your input. This is sort of my guinea pig story- the one where I put all my heart and soul into it, and therefore need criticism to help me work on it. Point out the ups, the downs, etc. please!

**R&R!**


	5. Woes and Burdens, Tours and Discomforts

A/N: Yeah... Warnings for this chapter include language, sexual implications, and alcohol.

* * *

"Ve…?" repeated the Italian nobleman, index finger trembling in its ecstatic accusation. "You…" Neither he nor the arriving bodyguard would utter any words besides incoherent gibberish, which would not be limited to mild grunts and gasps. The two stood in silence, gazes locked in a heated stare battle. And who would break the calm of the room but Alfred F. Jones?

"A-Ah! Say something, you two! This silence is killing me!" The American sat a platter upon the table, glasses sliding crookedly off of his nose and onto the glossy rowan table. "Damn… Um… Feli? Everything al-"

"W-W-Wah~!" Feliciano stammered in a high-pitched, panicky tone, diving fearfully behind the nearest object, which just happened to be poor Matthew, who was busy whispering to himself about scoffing at his brother's profane use of language. "I surrender! You can have everything I own! Take my money, take my house, take my clothes!"

Ludwig blinked once, twice, and found himself at yet another loss of words. Instead, he managed to utter a slight "Eh…?" before taking a step backward as the Italian began frightfully tossing random items in his direction, from a potted Gardenia flower to some odd goop he found _behind_ said pot. "H-Hey! Get a hold of yourself!"

"Take my plant! Take Lovino's old lounging chair- it's upstairs!" Feliciano continued to cower behind Matthew, biting his lip in complete, undeniable dread. "Take the Canadian! Take my virginity! I don't care anymore, just don't hurt me!"

"F-Feliciano, sir…" Matthew muttered, eyebrow giving the slightest twitch in irritation at the sudden comment regarding his sacrifice. "Might I suggest asking what he is here for? I don't think he's here to rob you- he would have done so already."

"My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt…" the German mumbled, voice cracking near the end in mild uncertainty- particularly due to the fact that Feliciano was eyeing him with quite possibly the most oblivious, stupidest expression he had ever witnessed in his lifetime. "…And I'm here to apply for the position of a bodyguard."

"Hm? A bodyguard?" The aristocrat's face lit up, a broad smile expanding over the length of his face as he rose from his spot behind Matthew. "You're hired! If you could scare me that easily, you'll do wonders on those thieves! Where are you from, Ludwig~?"

"Germany."

"Ah, that makes sense! Lovino always did say that Germans were bizarre… how did he describe you? Oh yeah- potato-freaks! Ve, come help me make dinner, potato-freak!" Feliciano's amber eyes gleamed with a renewed, friendly, if not naïve, sense of cheer. "Have you ever made Italian food before? I hope you like it- I don't usually eat anything else!"

"I'd prefer if you called me Ludwig." In all honesty, Ludwig couldn't have been more taken aback by all of this overwhelmingly-unexpected turmoil. He rescanned his vivid sapphire eyes over this peculiar man, absorbing every last detail in case of separation; if he was to be a bodyguard, he at least needed to know the physical features of his master. Somewhat short auburn hair, a bit unkempt and tousled in places, rested atop his head, coupling light golden-brown irises in just the right manner. Unfortunately, this was, perhaps, his only redeeming quality, as the nobleman appeared the latter- somewhat _childish_, even. He was short, to be frank, much shorter than any other man in the room, and beheld a certain giddiness about his aura. To have a band of criminals out for his throat seemed incredibly unorthodox, what with the carefree expression that seemed eternally glued onto his pale face. And that _curl_- that shoddy, sardonic curl that always dangled limply from his scalp and swayed with every unnatural movement of his body- why, t'was enough to drive the German screwy. "And I don't like cooking Italian food all that much…"

"Great, let's go! And then I'll give you a tour of the manor." With a slight skip in his step, the Italian bounded forward, snatched the newcomer's wrist, and dragged him with surprising force in the direction of the kitchen, despite the rampant protests of Ludwig. "I'm sure you'll love it here! Do you like fettuccini? How about tortellini? Or lasagna, spaghetti, or even ravioli?" Feliciano yanked harder, proceeding to show the German around the kitchen- and vast it was, much larger than any kitchen he had ever seen, let alone cooked in. "We also have some leftover tiramisu, but that's Alfred's. There are some fresh fruits and veggies in the ceramic bowl on the island- the kitchen island, not the tropical kind. There are two tubs of gelato in the freezer, and a whole bunch of seafood in the fridge. I also keep a lot of coffee beans for espresso, but Alfred put a sticky note on the coffee brewer that has his name on it too, so we can't have any coffee."

"Alfred!" Matthew hissed from the entrance room, scoffing gently at his brother. "He thinks you were serious!"

"Hey, all the better!" the American responded, assisting his brother in sweeping up the shards of glass that still patterned the floor.

"Hey, Alfred! Can you tell your brother to please take over the cooking for now? I need to show Ludwig around the house!" Feliciano called, flailing his hand about to catch Alfred's attention.

"I'm right here…" Matthew murmured, narrowing his eyes exasperatedly at the glass. "Why can't anybody ever notice me?"

The aristocrat chuckled gleefully once more before locking his fingers tightly around Ludwig's wrist once more and hauling him up the stairs. "Ve, Ludwig, this is the first corridor!" he exclaimed upon their arrival to the second floor. "To the right are the laundry room and the utility closet. Follow me down the left way to see more! Let's see…"

Ludwig glanced awkwardly around, discomforted at the death grip chaffing his wrist, when an unfamiliarly splendid group of pictures hanging upon the wall caught his eye. "Sir, did you paint those?"

"Uh-huh, you bet! Are they good?"

"Very. Are you professional?"

The Italian sighed gently. "No, I'm not. Paintings don't go for much nowadays, but I really enjoy art in my spare time... Ah, here we are!" Feliciano fingered the doorknob, twisting skillfully and flinging the door open on its hinges. "This is the room that Lovino used to sleep in. It's yours to sleep in, though, since he moved out a few days ago. Lovino is my older brother, by the way. He and Antonio are in Spain right now." Ludwig entered, gazing fondly around in mild awe. The walls were coated in a thick layer of glossy, navy-blue paint, a single window upon the wall opposite the door. Before he could contemplate the remainder of his surroundings, however, Feliciano grabbed his wrist once more and whisked him back out the door, continuing their tour of the house.

"And the room across the hall is Alfred's and… his brother's. They told me not to let you in, because it was really messy right now from all their unpacking. Oh, wait, I don't think I was supposed to tell you that… U-Uh, forget I said anything! Nothing to see here! Ah hah hah!" That little titter was, perhaps, the worst spiel of forced laughter the German had heard in a long while, dating back to when he had walked in on his brother doing something _unsightly_ with the neighbor's daughter. "Oh, don't worry, it's nothing like that. They're brothers, and Alfred's messy. Matthew finds it embarrassing to have such a sloppy twin, so he tries to keep things like that secretive. Ludwig~! Come on, let's go see my room! It's next to yours- we share a wall! You'll be able to hear me screaming for help whenever anytime!"

_Lucky me…_ Ludwig grumbled inwardly, sarcasm lacing his inner voice. Something told him this would _not_ be the most pleasant of experiences.

********

"Alright, then." Arthur Kirkland leaned uncomfortably over a sheet of paper, staring into its blank depths of eggshell white in frustration, back hunched over the little desk upon which said paper nestled. "We could enter through the back door, considering it doesn't have the half-security that the other entrances do… of course, he would probably expect something of that sort. Or perhaps not; he's not the brightest fellow, that much is certain. Unless he hired help of some kind by now… Argh! Bugger it all!" he shouted in alarm, wadding up the paper into a tightly-crumpled ball and throwing its scratched-out contents into the nearest waste bin. The candlelight in which he worked dimmed ever-so-slightly as he sighed, exhaling a deep breath and rubbing at his emerald eyes with the base of his palm. Digging his nails into his forehead out of pure aggravation with himself, the Briton snatched his bottle of rum from the makeshift desk (otherwise known as a commoner's cardboard box) and chugged down a good third of the bottle's sloshing contents.

"_Mon cheri~_!" proclaimed a flamboyant man's voice, ringing out above the buzzing noises within the Englishman's ears. Francis Bonnefoy approached his leader, winking slyly in his direction and shutting the door promptly behind him.

"Sod off… 'nd don' call me that," he managed to slur back, intoxication overwhelming every sense and nerve within his body. "We're –_hic_- unofficial, d'mned Frenchm'n."

Francis shook his head softly, tearing the bottle of alcohol from the grasp of the Brit. "Oh, but Arthur, don't deny what you cannot. Drunk or not, you _know _you can't resist me." He advanced forward, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy's shoulders and nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck. "Now hold still, and let us relish in the love of late autumn!"

"W-Wha' th' 'ell, you b'sta'd…" His language grew increasingly slurred and incoherent, though he made no attempt to pull away from the other's grasp. On the contrary, he leaned back into the embrace, sighing as Francis' fingers trailed roughly up and down his tense back in a massage- although it was probably intended for arousal by the Frenchman, he accepted the loosening of shoulder muscles willingly. "Hey… y' aren' too bad a' 'is…" Brain hazy and distorted from alcohol intake, Arthur snarled seductively and whirled around, pinning the dumbfounded man to the wall. "W –_hic_- 'ell, y' ma' be a 'rog, b't I nee' a g'd brea' fr'm this s'ess…"

Well, in all honesty, Francis hadn't the foggiest clue what it was Arthur had just mumbled, as it sounded like pure gibberish. Regardless, what with the predatory gleam in those jade-green eyes and the hungry seize performed by the Englishman, he could assume for himself, mostly. Catching the message in the atmosphere, his hands dug deeper into the bony back above him, pulling their heated bodies closer and placing a rough kiss upon those alcohol-flavored lips. Intermingling scents wove around them, mostly of strong rum and cheap cologne, both of which had been stolen a week previous. Arthur scowled beneath Francis' mouth and grumbled, parting his lips and hungrily lashing his tongue out, cheeks flushed with the utmost scarlet blush.

He pulled away, if only for a second, as Francis proceeded to grope upward, locking the door.

********

"Antonio! You're awake!" Lovino cried, voice cracking in a way that blessed disgust upon his soul. Indeed, as he gazed downward at his bloodstained companion, he met a pair of vibrant emerald eyes, glancing back with an agonized delight.

"H-Hey, Lovi," he mustered out, voice a bit raspy from a combined lack of usage and frail state of being. "Where-"

"Don't talk, you idiot!" the Italian snapped, placing a hand over the other's mouth. "You were just shot… twice, for that matter, if you include the cheek wound! Don't act as though it was such a minor thing!" A single, hot tear traveled once more from Lovino's eye, though t'was wiped away in haste by the humiliated man. "You… You were shot, and you lost consciousness. I managed to lug you around for a while before I came across this church. I stopped here and bandaged up your sorry ass…" He made a waving motion with his hand in the direction of the bullet wound, enfolded in its cloth binding. "Then the priest came by. He basically asked what had happened, why there was blood everywhere… He wasn't exactly doctor-smart, but he knew enough to remove the bullet, and…"

"I can't move my arm…" Antonio tried to mumble, though it came out as a hoarse muffling against the fingers that remained firmly held against his lips.

"I said not to talk!" _You don't need to further strain yourself…_But he didn't dare utter these words aloud. "As I was saying, he removed the bullet, but your bone was shattered from the impact. It's… unlikely that you will recover. If we get you medical attention soon, it may be healable, as we're unsure of the damage. The priest left not too long ago to find staff from the hospital a few miles away, as he said it was probably best not to move you around too much."

The Spaniard nodded once, averting his gaze to glance down in inquiry at Lovino's bloodstained clothes, as well as the crimson splattered across various other places of his torso and drenching his hands, including the one preventing his mouth from speaking.

"I wasn't kidding when I said you had lost a lot of blood, you idiot." His voice saddened, lowering to a soft, dark mutter. "It was horrifying, really… And they still don't know who is to blame. I swear, if those bastards get away with doing something like this to you- especially if you don't recover-!"

His voice caught in his breath- hitching had become somewhat habitual in the recent turn of events- as his fiancée replied with a slow, gentle kiss to the fingers at his lips, grinning from ear to ear in that naïve, stupid smile of his.

"Hmph. Chipper bastard," he murmured, though made no attempt to retract his hand.

And those fingers would remain at his lover's lips, softly brushing in uneasiness, until the arrival of the paramedics.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, some humor, smexiness, and fluff. Sorry, wasn't going to attempt a sex scene. I'm perfectly capable of doing so, but wasn't really… feeling up to it, I dunno. Stay tuned~!

EDIT: *cough* edited a part in which it seemed like Alfred/Matthew was implied. Sorry 'bout that, this is not an incest-laced story.

**R&R!**


	6. The First Night, Complete With Insomnia

With the plunging of the ever-glowing sun and the rising of the stars, every day must come to an end. The dim radiance of sunlight slowly-but-surely drifted down beyond the hilly horizon, marking the conclusion of yet another day in northern Italia. A great span of abysmal black shadowed over the world that night, moon hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds, showing through only in the form of a soft creamy-white light.

Such a calming, serene night could be seen best from the second floor of the Vargas manor, through the vast expanse of the wall's sheer window, directly across from the bed upon which the new bodyguard slept. He had spent many hours lying there that night, gazing thoughtfully out at the murky black with contented sapphire eyes. Blonde locks of hair, once tidily combed back against his scalp, were now disheveled and sloppy, dangling ever-so-slightly down in his face, tickling his forehead teasingly. Not one moment, however, was wasted in aggravation, and the German merely rolled onto his side and allowed himself to drift into a deep, tranquil slumber.

Twelve o' clock struck, chiming richly through the entirety of the estate from the massive grandfather clock, which stood just beyond the bottom of the stairwell. Lingering within each heavy chime of the clock, however, wafted another noise, low and thumping against what Ludwig could only assume to be either stone or wood. His eyes clenched tighter, drawing the thick layers of hand-sewn quilts over his head and grumbling something incoherent in his sleep. The resonating thudding resumed, edging closer with each bulky patter- definitely greater than those of a rat's footsteps.

_Thud_. Ludwig whirled around in his slumber, mumbling once more before rolling to lie on his opposite side.

_Thud. _The steps intensified, and a cumbersome wind battered ruthlessly against the shutters.

_Thud_. What he could only assume to be the wind nudged the door open, sounding with a _creak_.

_THUD._

One final wallop echoed about the room's enclosure, its deep, unsettling waves fading into the otherwise silent night. The German bodyguard positioned himself once more, lying on his back, gradually awakening from his drowsy state of being. His eyes remained clamped shut, ears scoping out for any sign of abnormality. At the lack of noise, he emitted a prolonged yawn, spreading his mouth wide beneath the covers, and exhaled profoundly.

Wait… But what on the beloved planet of earth could be that newfound, heavy weight above him?

"Hrmm…?" he muttered groggily, eyelids opening just enough to allow his vision to return, even if for only a moment. If only poor Ludwig had known that he would need those keen eyes of his sooner than expected.

"V-V-Ve, Ludwig!" stuttered Feliciano, who now lingered over him with watery, frightful amber eyes.

"W-Wah!" The German's torso bolted upward, nudging his master off of him in extreme discomfort. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"L-Ludwig~! Gah, I heard something a few minutes ago! It was_ really_ scary!" An obnoxious, childlike sniffle rattled his lean chest as he backed a few inches away from his new bodyguard. "D-D-Do you think it was those thieves again? Oh, I hope not!"

"Noises?" Ludwig questioned, eyes alert and muscles stiffening. "Like thumping noises?" _Oh, wait, that was probably the sound of his footsteps…_

"No! Worse!" The young Italian was now on the verge of tears, lips trembling with every shaky word spoken. "It… it sounded almost like a lion, or a wild animal! It was low, and made a sound like that scary thing at the bottom of the kitchen sink…"

"You mean… the garbage disposal?"

"Yeah! I've never heard anything like it before. Hoh~!"

"With our luck, it's probably just Alfred's stomach," the bodyguard murmured under his breath, then directed his gaze back at his master. "Sir, whatever the sound was that you were hearing, it's obviously gone now. Just go back to sleep."

"Hah, okay!" Feliciano beamed, well-brushed teeth gleaming, and promptly fell gently backward onto the floor, curling up and stealing a pillow from under the bed. "_Buonanotte_!"

"H-Hey, go back to your own bedroom! What do you think you're-?" Something, though he wasn't entirely sure what, held him back from completing his defiant statement. Perhaps it was the fact that this man was his new master, or maybe just the fact that Feliciano was already out cold, but some inexplicable force withdrew his normal irritation. He grunted, turned to face the opposite direction, and closed his eyes once more.

And they would remain closed tight, until the Italian aristocrat would nudge him awake again a half-hour later.

"Ludwig! Ludwig! Quickly, the sound is back!"

This time, the German prompted to bring with him a flashlight, with which they could presume exploration of the manor within the shadows of midnight. "Look, sir, I don't know what you've been hearing, but I still haven't found what could have been making that noise. Maybe you should try and get some sleep and we can try to figure things out tomorrow."

"B-But… I'm scared!" The nobleman clung to the bodyguard's arm, locking on in a death grip of fright. "Everyone always used to call me a coward- even Lovino, and he's not that much braver than I am. But… I want to, at least, try to learn how to stand and face my fears. I can be strong, I know it! See?" He puffed out his (exceptionally thin) chest and clenched his (rather bony) fists, huffing out his cheeks ever-so-slightly in attempt to intensify his (lack of) chivalry. "I'm a strong guy with a cute sense of prow-fish-in-sea!"

The latter raised an eyebrow in complete confusion before repeating the words aloud to himself. "Wait… you mean a strong guy with an acute sense of proficiency." _What's with this guy? It's as if his mind's still back in fifth grade or something! Of course, at the same time, he acts like an adult… I can't really figure out how that works. Either way, he's impossible to figure out. _"Alright, well, we've searched every nook and cranny. There's nothing here, so-"

"Back to bed?"

"Yep."

Silence. "…Can I sleep on your floor again?"

A sigh. "If you must."

They retreat. Another fifteen minutes pass, spent either sleeping or attempting to. And a certain someone is to break the serenity.

Guess who?

Feliciano anxiously placed his trembling hands on the German's shoulders, mouth agape in disbelief, and vigorously shook the other man back and forth. "Hey, wake up, Ludwig! Ludwig~, wake up!"

"What the hell do you want now?!" the bodyguard burst out, fists clenching at his sides and reaching up to push the Italian out of his lap. "What is so important that you have to wake me up three times in the course of an hour?!"

"Ludwig, quick, we need to get to the hospital!"

"W-Wha…?"

"I found out what the sound was! And you must have swallowed the grumbling noise, because it keeps growling from inside of you! We either need to operate and remove the demon, or get you to throw it up. I'll go get some of Lovino's week-old leftovers…"

"Ah- wait!" Ludwig grasped the other man by the shoulder in a slight panic as he rose to retrieve the godforsaken leftovers. "I think you were hearing things; I haven't swallowed anythi-" And then realization dawned upon him like a crude slap in the face. Gilbert had always said that Ludwig had a nasty snoring problem…

"Oh, for the love of-!"

"Ve~, I'm tired…" And, with a brief, stupid grin, the nobleman's head slumped and he fell into a deep slumber. Ludwig grimaced, forcing Feliciano back onto the floor and proceeding to lie down and try to catch some Z's. Unfortunately, he would have to consult with his master about the whole "snoring like a fuckin' tiger" (as his brother had often put it) issue, but for now, he let it slide. He needn't disturb the miraculous sleeping of the Italian on the floor any more so than before.

And, as the German's eyes leisurely began to shut of their own accord, he draped a single quilt from his own mattress and tossed it onto the floor, over his master's lanky frame, and turned away, snuggling deeper into the comfort of the sheets and drifting off to sleep.

********

"Arthur, sir," Ivan said, tapping his leader upon the shoulder. "Everyone else would like to know why we haven't tried to infiltrate the estate yet. Oh, and we're out of vodka."

Arthur sighed monotonously, shuffling his fingers through his blonde locks of hair. Dark circles of various violets and grays lingered beneath his eyes, coupling bloodshot whites and the pale flesh surrounding. "I know, I know. I'm trying everything in my power to plan something, but nothing seems to be working precisely. By now, there's no doubt in my mind that he's hired some sort of help, which means hell for us. And then there's the other Vargas we have to worry about… I don't think it wise to go after him yet, though."

Ivan grimaced, though his smile still remained plastered upon his face. "And… And why, may I ask, is that?"

"He should be in Spain right now with that Antonio fellow. That's a pretty decent distance from here, and he doesn't hold the money that his brother does. Unfortunately, his parents left Feliciano more money than Lovino, something he's always been sore about. Lovino isn't as much of a threat to us as Feliciano could prove to be."

"And how do you figure that? He's more intelligent than his brother, da?"

"Intelligent, yes, but Feliciano has more going for him, if you catch my drift. The younger Vargas boy has luck on his side, something we witnessed upon our first attempt. He also has the money to buy more protection for himself, and we can't afford to lose anybody in our small force. Lovino, on the other hand, hasn't near the expenses, especially since he moved to Spain, and is infamous for his rotten stroke of luck. It would be better for us to take out Feliciano Vargas and have to worry about the poor, unlucky one."

"… Forgive me for saying so, but that seems kind of illogical."

"Trust me; I know what I'm doing. Don't argue with me on this."

Ivan hesitated, clearing his throat and wearing his plastic smile oh-so-well, bearing wolfish teeth, as if veiling a hunger for his victim's flesh and blood. "Then forgive me again, for I have… well. I sent out an assassin, a personal friend of mine, to take care of Lovino Vargas. I have yet to hear from him, but it's safe to assume that Lovino was murdered around four o' clock yesterday afterno-"

His voice was abruptly cut off by a rude, infuriated shove into the wall by Arthur, the Brit's scrawny hands grasping the Russian's collar forcefully. "You… _what_?" the Englishman seethed, gritting his teeth in disbelief.

"Pardon me for saying this, but you don't have the slightest clue what you're doing. You have never taken the life of another, and are hesitant to do so. Don't think I don't see what you're trying to do- You want to put off his death further and further, do you not?"

"Listen to me, ungrateful bastard," Arthur murmured, gnashing his teeth together more so than he had prior. "Everything I do is strategic. I haven't told you the entire plan, nor have I told anybody else, because I don't want you interfering, as you already seem to have done. Ivan Braginski- an escaped criminal from Russia, wanted for the murder of a young girl of about eighteen years of age. There's no doubt in my mind that you killed that poor woman, but I was willing to look past that. Considering the fact that you were caught red-handed, I suggest you listen to my plans, lest you want to spend the remainder of your life in the slammer."

"Hm." Ivan said no more, forcing his leader's grip off of his collar and grinning wider. "Have any more vodka stashed in the back? If not, I can get us some. Need anything else while I'm gone?"

Arthur sighed once more, massaging his temples lightly with his fingertips. "Bring me some pain relief medication… And don't act on an impulse while you're out!"

"Hm. Well, I'll be back soon, da~?" His voice was laced with the metaphorical equivalent of icing; sickeningly sweet and undoubtedly sugar-coated, as well as hard to swallow without gagging.

The Briton slumped back into his chair as the Russian strolled out of sight, gazing down at the ground through thick lashes. _He worries me. If he managed to murder Lovino Vargas in the course of a day, then there's no telling what he will do to Feliciano, not to mention the rest of us. Unfortunately, the criminal business is a sticky one, and I'd prefer to keep our names as clean as possible, all the while taking the life of the Vargas brothers and getting back what is rightfully ours._

And another six hours would pass before the return of Ivan Braginski, for he had other plans for the early morning, disregarding the lack of Arthur's knowledge.

********

Ivan smiled, readjusting the long, woven scarf around his neck. "Ah, you've returned, da? All of you?" He stood outside a stall at the marketplace, which was closed, for the most part, with the exception of one particular fruit stand.

"Yes, Ivan," a woman answered, fingering her knife anxiously. "We don't often get to see each other in person, so we must relish in the little time spent together. Come, Ivan, let us get married now."

"Ah, eh heh, that's alright. So, how did the assassination go, Natalia?"

"…Not so good. That Spanish idiot got in the way, taking the bullet for Vargas. They got away in the heat of the moment."

"Most unfortunate. Well, as it seems Arthur isn't happy, we should send a spy of some sort, to keep us updated on what's going on around the Vargas manor. Any volunteers?"

Silence ensued for what seemed like an eternity to the group of individuals. Finally, a brunette spoke up, mostly due to the deathly glare being sent in his direction by Ivan. "I-I'll do it, sir."

"Ah, good then, Toris. You are moer than cut out for the job, da~?"

Most hesitation.

"Yes… Ivan, sir. When should I begin?"

"As soon as possible. Now… did anyone bring the vodka?"

********

A/N: Meh, this is more so a chapter that leads up to the next. Sorry it's been taking so long for me to update, everyone, but the reviews are definitely helping me get off my lazy ass and write something, so keep 'em coming!

_Buonanotte_- Italian for "Goodnight"

Next update from me: My Spamano two-shot, hopefully.

**R&R!**


	7. Come Home, O Foreboding Realism

Lovino sat solemnly upon a hard wooden bench, his face shielded by clammy palms from the views of any passersby who would dare question his troubled expression. For, indeed, plastered upon his façade he bore a somber, guilty complexion, once-trembling lips now curved downwards in a deep frown. He remained there, alone in the quaint hospital's waiting room, head throbbing as each concentration of muddled thought and conflict mingled unwillingly in his mind. Antonio had been admitted under "critical condition" and arrived about three hours previous to Lovino's present time. And, alas, after those arduous hours of silently awaiting, no more news had been heard about the Spaniard's condition.

_Antonio_, Lovino thought to himself, frown twitching ever-so-slightly as a tear threatened to plunge from hazel pools of vision, though he hastily bit them back and continued on with his persistent thoughts, though they may have absolutely no effect on anybody in their reality. _Look, you idiot, I know you were excited about going back to Spain, and you have every right to be, I guess. But… even if it means postponing the wedding, I have to go back and warn my brother. He may be a pain in the ass, but… well, hey, so are you, right? I've not moved from this spot the entire time, have I? I can only hope that you understand…_ Well, that speech seemed damned corny, as well as exceedingly unconvincing, but it seemed his only option at the time, for he knew not if his lover would even awaken from his formerly-unconscious state of being.

The elder Vargas had since washed off his blood-soaked skin, considering that he had managed to accumulate little flecks of the Spaniard's blood all over his body in his earlier frenzy to stop the bleeding. His clothing, however, had been deemed unsalvageable and still clung to his lanky frame, reeking of the red liquid and receiving a few horrified glances by various bystanders. But, really, this was quite possibly the slightest of his worries and troubles, taking into account Antonio's current condition. At such inklings, the Italian could only chuckle in spite of himself, though a scowl remained glued to his lips at all times. Honestly, when did ever become so freakin' selfless? It was completely uncharacteristic, really… They say that love and death can both bring upon personalities and multiple sides of a person that they had known nothing of before… but Lovino didn't believe in all that love crap that Feliciano always had, and remained contented to his excuse- the combined fumes of blood and the atmosphere lingering about the hospital were more than likely the cause of his unease. Yes, that was surely it. Nothing more.

"_¿Perdón?_" A young female voice, heavily accented as a fluent Spanish tongue met the ears of the Italian, disrupting him from his inner thoughts with a jolt. "_Usted puede verlo ahora_."

The words were barely able to escape her glossed lips before Lovino had lightly nudged past her form and into the room, shutting the door behind him to shroud away any unwelcome doctors and whatnot from spotting them. Gay marriage wasn't illegal by any means, and had become quite popular over the years- however, the vast majority still frowned upon it. Besides, what business of theirs was it?

Antonio leaned comfortably against a feathery white pillow, eyelids clamped peacefully shut in a blissful dream, pain at last semi-tranquilized. Regardless, he most certainly didn't bear the appearance of his norm; a long white bandage was wrapped snuggly around his arm, where the bullet had struck, and a large ball of gauze was taped tightly against the wound upon his cheek. His hair was beyond tousled, a bit bloodstained as well, his top was torn completely off for the operation, and his pants and gloves were ripped something awful. The entirety of the room contained the unpleasant scent of copper and antibacterial soap, though all of Lovino's senses appeared fixated upon his sleeping fiancée. Slowly, hesitantly, he treaded over to the bedside, face veiled by a shadowy guilt.

"You're an idiot, irrational bastard," he muttered shakily, cursing his trembling voice as well. Tentatively, as if merely coming into contact with the Spaniard would cause him to unravel into little ribbons, Lovino urged his right hand forward to gently stroke the other man's faintly-bruised forehead, brushing a few stray strands of hair from the bluing flesh. "You're an idiot, and I really hate you. Especially when you do stupid things like this." He then positioned his hand lower, grasping Antonio's left hand with his own and clutching it firmly, fiddling with the golden band that had been securely slipped over those muscled fingers since the original proposal. "I'm going back to Feliciano. I hope you can understand, and if not… well, then that attack likely damaged your dumb, clueless brain. I will wait to leave until you wake up, whenever that may be. At least you're in a more stable condition now."

With those final words of love- well, Lovino's version of love, anyway- the elder Vargas planted a gentle kiss, slow and lingering, against the other's ring finger, running the smooth gold against his lips briefly before taking an unwavering seat in the corner of the room and waiting.

********

"Morning~!" chirped Feliciano, gazing rather cheerily up the staircase to meet the drowsy gaze of Ludwig Beilschmidt. The German had gotten next to no sleep that night, what with the consistently rude awakenings by his new master. At long last, he had managed to convince the Italian fool that he was merely snoring, no matter how persistently Feliciano would say that he had in fact swallowed a lawn mower… or a blender… or the garbage disposal… Eh, regardless, the Vargas boy had been convinced of the truth, and had finally left the room to sleep around four o' clock a.m. Woe was the life of a German bodyguard.

"Matthew said he would be down in a minute," Ludwig grumbled, voice still a bit groggy from his temporary insomnia. "Alfred, on the other hand, seems to have slept in this morning. How well did you sleep?" And, for that matter, how could Feli stay so gleeful and optimistic that early in the morning, considering their lack of sleep?

"Fine, fine!" Feliciano chanted, retreating into the kitchen as Ludwig slowly trudged down the winding staircase, nearly stumbling over on more than one occasion. He was deeply afraid that he would surely fall flat on his face within the next few days, so proceeded with far more caution than the norm.

"So… Um, I never really asked, sir-"

"It's Feliciano!"

"R-Right. Anyway, er… how long am I supposed to be your bodyguard? I know that I was offered over one million euro, but I would at least like to know how long I am to be under your roof."

"Hm? Why, for your entire life, of course!" Feliciano merely grinned wider as he approached the bar, taking a seat and sipping a previously-poured glass of milk. Ludwig took that opportunity to sputter uncontrollably and stagger upon reaching the last five steps, face making a prompt collision with… well, the floor. The_ marble_ floor.

That much money? For a lifetime? He was beginning to suspect the crude reality- he had been royally screwed over. By an idiot, for that matter.

Just his luck, eh?

"Hm, or maybe not your entire life. Just until the criminals are gone." The Italian rubbed drearily at his eyes, releasing a long, echoing yawn as Matthew slowly lumbered down the stairs as well. "_Buon giorno_, Matthew! Want anything to eat? We have bread, jam, eggs…"

"A-Anything is fine… Is Ludwig alright?" the Canadian mumbled, observing the German from afar with curious violet eyes. "He's lying on the ground."

"I-I'm fine… Just a bit tired," Ludwig grumbled in frustration, rising from his spot on the cool floor. "Any more news on your brother, Feliciano?"

"Nope, nothing at all. But he's alright, I can feel it."

Ludwig's eyebrows rose in surprise- while it seemed perfectly obvious that Feliciano was negligent of most thing going on around him, he most certainly wasn't impassive. And, yet, the Vargas boy managed to remain giddy and positive at all times, even when his brother's life was in jeopardy. The bodyguard knew not whether this was an attribute to be envious of or to be thankful for his own lack thereof. Truly, how would he react on impulse, had Gilbert's life and wellbeing been threatened by means of bloodshed? It was absolutely implausible.

"Hey, Lu~dwig?" Feliciano declared in inquiry, the back of his slender hand reaching up to wipe away his own drying milk mustache. "What do you want for-"

However, before the sentence could be allowed any form of completion, the doorknob of the front entrance began to jiggle violently, twisting this way and that before coming to an abrupt halt. Feliciano cried out in alarm, tumbling backwards from his barstool and onto the floor, not too far from Ludwig's former position. "Gah! They're back! Matthew, Alfred, Ludwig, save me!"

The door gave a prompt creak as it was forced open, a pair of golden keys dangling from the outer lock as a form, gangly and fatigued, entered with another close behind.

Feliciano emitted a little gasp of amazement, and a smile instantly recomposed upon his face. "Ah!" he exclaimed, more than willing to rise back to his feet again. Ludwig blinked once, twice, thrice, before doing a complete, absolute double-take. Standing before them, in the doorway, were two men- one of which bore an uncanny resemblance to his master. The younger Vargas took a few flighty steps forward.

"Ve~! _Fratello!_"

********

Indeed, standing in the doorway had been Lovino Vargas, accompanied by a rather tousled Spaniard, who gave the appearance of a ragdoll, beaten to a pulp. And yet, Antonio had still smiled in return, waving a trembling hand in greeting. "Hey, Feli~! Everything all right here?"

Within the next few minutes, Lovino and Antonio had all but collapsed onto the sofa, sweaty and utterly exhausted. Lovino grimaced at his brother's company of choice; Matthew looked like a complete nobody, Ludwig gave off the appearance of a total creeper, and Feli looked… well, stupid, as usual. "So… Those bastards broken in again yet?"

"Nope, we haven't seen them at all since that night," Feliciano replied rather obliviously, taking a seat on the ground. "They haven't bothered you at all, have they?"

The elder Vargas hesitated, glancing uneasily at Antonio's bandaged, revealed cheek with a frown plastered on his face. "No… not at all. It's good to know they haven't tried to harm you yet. Er, well, not that I really care what the hell they do to you, but… Hey, no one messes with a Vargas and gets off clean! That's why we came back- we figured you couldn't take care of yourself, and we didn't know if you had hired any help yet…."

Ludwig frowned yet again catching a glimpse of the fib betrayed in an unwavering Lovino's hazel gaze. He could sense that something was off, though did not wish in the slightest to face the fury of the older nobleman. Perhaps his absolute silence was a foolish decision on his part, but for now he wished to stay out of the personal affairs of the Vargas children.

"Antonio and I will stay for a while, now. Come on, you idiot!" Lovino hastily tugged at the Spaniard's shirt collar, urging him to follow his fiancée. Antonio just sighed in exhaustion and obeyed the ever-persistent beckoning of the elder Italian, glancing apologetically in the others' directions before trudging up the winding staircase and into Lovino's old bedroom, shutting the door behind them both without another utterance.

"Ne, Matthew?" Feliciano piped up, gently yanking at the Canadian's sleeve after about five minutes of complete silence had passed. "Do you think… we're in danger?"

Matthew said nothing for an eternity, or so it seemed, as that uncomfortable, lingering unease wafted along the auras of the household's people. At last, his lips parted, uttering a slight "Erm…" before his tongue remoistened them in all of his discomfort. "You and your brother are in more danger than I could ever hope to imagine, I'm afraid…"

"No," Feliciano whispered, a rare frown upon his face. "I mean, do you think we're_ all_ in danger?" Those words almost seemed to echo down the hall, through every corridor and passed every barricade, before anyone truly allowed his oddly-intelligent words to fully sink in.

Matthew could only stare, voice caught like a lump in his throat.

If only the naïve Vargas had known the gravity of the words spoken from his mouth.

********

Ludwig bid Matthew, Alfred, and Feliciano a curt goodnight before heading up the stairs to bed. The day had passed in an unusual quiet, with even Alfred acting peculiarly awkward. In all honesty, it had been incredibly unwelcoming, if even hostile. Lovino and Antonio hadn't come back down the entire day, likely sleeping the entirety of the day away from their long, rugged journey. Considering the hectically- stoic mood of the day, Ludwig was almost envious of the two, but said nothing of it as he proceeded down the shadowed hallway and over to his shut bedroom door.

Wait… the door was shut? For what reason would the door be closed so tightly? Ah well, perhaps the window had been left open, and the wind had blown it closed. Regardless, he reached for the handle, though felt his muscles freeze at the sudden voices erupting from somewhere down the hall- he wasn't entirely sure which room in came from, but decided to listen around anyway.

"Lovi~! Can't you be more careful?"

"No, not really! The doctor said you needed to put ointment on the wound twice a day, and it looks like hell! Shut up and let me-"

"Ouch! Lovi~!" Antonio's voice whimpered. Ludwig's eyebrow rose. Ointment? The doctor? Had the Spaniard been hurt after all? He had mentioned being wounded… "Couldn't we have finished before we put the ointment on?"

"No! Really, if this is all you have to- Aah! Don't pull my curl, damn it! You'll start bleeding again! I haven't even done anything yet, you bastard!"

"I don't wanna…" More silence, followed by a light "N-Nah!" from Lovino's part before another swear.

"I said let go of my hair!"

"But Lovino~!"

"Don't-" Alright, this conversation was getting a little out of hand for the German's taste. Shaking his head lightly, Ludwig reached forward once more and twisted the knob, swinging the door open and taking a single step inside…

…And coming face to face with Lovino and Antonio, lying on_ his_ bed, completely stripped down to nothing. Well… Antonio had been wounded, and the stitched-up injury on his arm made that quite obvious, but regardless…

Well, really, when two people, two men, were having a nice time in your bed, you don't typically focus on their arms.

Ludwig's lips parted, mouth agape and sapphire eyes wide in horror-stricken disbelief. Why on earth…? Then it struck- Feliciano had put Ludwig in Lovino's old room… So, that's why they had…

Oh, crap.

********

Lovino glanced upward from his spot beside Antonio, eyes perhaps wider than Ludwig's himself, resembling that of a deer… a dead deer. The German bastard… had he really just-? Surely he…?

What in the hell was that guy's problem? How could he just walk into a couple's room uninvited, without knocking, and assuming that it would completely safe? Surely anyone with any common sense…

Wait… Ludwig was standing in the doorway… Watching him… Naked…

"W-W-Wha?! Ge-Get out of here, you fucking bastard!" he shouted, drawing a blanket over his lower half and throwing the nearest object- which just happened to be the alarm clock- at the intruder's head, wrath-fueled fury blazing in those hazel eyes. Ludwig stumbled backwards, avoiding the clock easily and shutting the door behind him, leaving the two to enjoy the remainder of their privacy. "I-I don't believe him!"

"Heh. Ludwig seems pretty cool about it. Now…" Antonio seized the curl once mroe, earning a prompt fist. "Aw, fine. We'll treat my injury first… but later-" Another punch. Lovino crossed his arms, wrapping the blanket around his entire form, leaving only his face un-shielded from the Spaniard's view. His scowl deepened, face redder than even one of Antonio's prized tomatoes.

And, from that day on, Lovino Vargas would officially loathe the German bastard.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it took so long again, I haven't had significant access to my laptop for a few weeks. But I'm back, and (hopefully) better than ever! Be sure to keep reading!

Ah, and so sprouts Lovino's hatred towards the potato freak. This will probably be the last of the major Spain/Romano moments. Other couples and friendships, as well as enemy-ships, shall be focused upon as we continue on.

**R&R~! Let's get to 30!**


	8. Pink, Feathered Schemes

"Ve… _Fratello _is still in bed," Feliciano noted aloud, stealing a few incoherent glances across the kitchen with drowsy, half-hearted interest. As it was, only he, Antonio, and Ludwig were in the room at that moment; Alfred and Matthew had left to take care of citizenship matters, and Lovino was still presumably fast asleep in bed. Ludwig had begrudgingly opted to sleep on the living room couch that night, a bit frazzled and disconcerted about his little run-in on his master's brother the previous night. Well, in all honesty, he believed with a diehard passion that one should really lock the door upon taking part in such… _activities,_ so he saw no reason whatsoever for Lovino to despise him. And yet, he could interpret the way the elder Vargas had acted after Ludwig's shocking discovery, and knew that it would only be a matter of hours before Lovino would have a loaded gun pointed directly at his forehead.

"So, Feli, how have things been around here?" Antonio asked, smiling gently as he raised a frothy glass of coffee to his lips for a slight sip. His arm had, indeed, given him the utmost discomfort that night, and he still found it virtually unbearable to perform any sort of motion with his wounded shoulder and nearly-shattered humerus. Regardless, he insisted that his fiancée not fret any further about his injury and get some sleep, and after some appallingly-persistent bickering, Lovino had compelled to heed his words, resentfully trying to get another few hours of much-needed sleep. Antonio's shoulder was bandaged tight, and would remain so for another many weeks until the wound would practically heal. Thankfully, to prevent any questioning on anybody else's part, he had slipped on a long-sleeved turtleneck before arriving downstairs earlier that morning, shielding his horrific injury from the rest of the world's unknowing eyes. "You know, without Lovi around and the criminals out to kill you."

Well, the Spaniard couldn't have been blunter than that. Feliciano blinked a few times before responding with a giddy tone. "Oh, well enough. I've been eating a lot of gelato, and Alfred likes to play cards with me. Let's see… Um, Ludwig hogs the bathroom, and-"

"H-Hey! Wait a minute!" The German's own mug of coffee almost toppled over in his disarrayed attempt to defend himself and his dignity. "How come you never said anything about this before? And I don't take that long!"

The younger Vargas remained deathly silent for perhaps an eternity before grinning yet again. "Hey, Ludwig? What are German women like?"

And, yet again, the bodyguard would all but dribble the steaming drink down the front of him at the random inquiry. "U-Um, well… That's… hard to say, really. I can't imagine that they're all that different from Italians… Of course, I can't really be sure." In all honesty, Ludwig Beilschmidt hadn't had near his brother's luck with women over the years. While Ludwig had had about two short-term girlfriends in his lifetime, Gilbert had… well, needless to say, he had lost track of how many women he had gone out with.

"Hmm…" Feliciano sighed, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck in a bored slump. The three remained in the kitchen, none of which daring to break the peaceful serenity and utter a single word. Perhaps the Vargas household would never again retain such a passive, calm atmosphere, and it was to be relinquished in the highest significance.

"Ludwig!" Feliciano suddenly hollered out. Leave it to the younger Vargas to break the silence.

"Aah! What?" he demanded in response, flinching at the spontaneous outburst. Oh, God, what was with the freakish gleam in those idiotic amber eyes? And, oh, Feliciano was slowly nearing him, step by step inching closer to the German bodyguard with the utmost interest.

"Can you _please _take me into the marketplace?" Feliciano pleaded, dropping rather dramatically onto his knees and clasping his hands together in a pathetic manner. "I'm almost out of groceries, and Lovino's never let me go before! Please, I'll do anything~! Ludwig! Please! Ludwig~!"

"Alright, alright!" Ludwig released a monotone, if not a bit exasperated, sigh and massaged his throbbing temples with his fingers. Oh, the remainder of his life was always fated to be hellish, but this was beyond those older forms of torment.

"Yay! Alright, let's go!" Without another word, Feliciano clutched onto Ludwig's wrist and dragged him rather forcefully towards the front door. "We'll be back in a little while, Antonio!"

"'Kay, Feli~! Bye!" Though it was true that he loved Lovino, the Spanish-born man had always had a particularly soft spot for the pasta-loving Italian as well. It was a certain factor of his that Lovino had never appreciated in the slightest, though bore with it until the truth came out. What truth, dare you ask? Well, that's another story for another day*.

"Oi, bastard!" Well, speak of the devil. Lovino's voice bellowed from over the stairwell, a definite indication of his awakening. "Where'd you put the toothpaste?"

"In the drawer by the sink!" Antonio called back up as his fiancée slowly trudged down the stairs, brunette hair rather disheveled and unkempt. "You don't look so good, Lovi. You should have stayed in a bed a while longer."

"Maybe I could've, if you and Feliciano could shut up once in a while." Needless to say, the elder Vargas most certainly wasn't a morning person. Lethargically, he poured himself a glass of milk and took a seat across from Antonio. "Wait, where's my brother? And the potato-bastard?"

"Hm? Ludwig, you mean? He and Feli just left for the marketplace."

A pregnant silence ensued as those words sunk fully into Lovino's head. "They…_ what_? The commoner's marketplace?" The Spaniard nodded, sipping another slow bit of espresso. "You idiot! You mean you actually let them go? To the marketplace… Damn that German son of a-"

"Why do you blame him for everything?"

"Shut up, Antonio! Do you understand why _I _always went to the marketplace to buy food, as opposed to him? Have you ever seen him react to the variety? It's… It's horrible."

"Is it really that bad? I mean, I used to work in a shop at the marketplace, and nothing ever seemed out of the ordinary."

"You're not Feliciano. He's in a whole separate world from the rest of us."

"Hrm. Of course…" Antonio rose from his spot, locking an arm around his fiancée's shoulders in a cheesy mock embrace. "I'd never have met you if you hadn't gone to buy fruit at the marketplace*."

"Shut up and let go of me." Why? For Feliciano at the marketplace was no laughing matter, as Ludwig would soon find out.

********

Ludwig Beilschmidt sighed once more- it had become a rather nasty habit really, all of this constant sighing- and leaned his back against the outer wall of one of the buildings, narrowly missing a stall and earning a crude glare from a middle-aged woman. Feliciano had fled about five minutes ago and had yet to return; though his initial thoughts centered around his master's possible capture, he knew the younger Vargas brother would, more than likely, show up from some unanticipated spot and-

"Ludwig! Ludwig!" Well, that was certainly sooner than expected. Indeed, Feliciano came bounding up to his bodyguard, an ever-peculiar object grasped in his hand. "You won't believe what I found!"

Ludwig glanced at the item with slight interest, and then did a prompt double-take in bewilderment. "What the hell is that thing?"

"It's a commoner's lawn decoration!" Feliciano felt it necessary to raise the object, a vivid-pink plastic flamingo, higher into the air, earning a few giggles and concerned stares from the poorer citizens of their town. "Isn't it amazing? It's so hard to believe that the commoners can have such high standards as far as lawn décor goes!"

"Sir…" Ludwig began, a bit hesitant at speaking out against his master and possibly earning a greatly-earned weep. "I recommend putting that down now. Trust me; you don't want to buy it."

"Aww, why not~?"

Well, that question definitely posed a problem. Instantaneously, the German spat out the first excuse that popped into his head, regardless of its possible consequences. "U-Um, well… They make them out of real… real flamingoes! And… then there's the bird gutting, and the-"

"Wh-What?!" Horrified, Feliciano dropped the plastic lawn decoration upon the ground, waving his hands about madly as if it were poisonous to the touch. "Why would they do something like that? Where are the flamingo rights? I'll never understand the bizarre ways of the poor…" A slight gasp rocked the younger brother's body ever-so-slightly. "Wait, do you think Antonio had one of these? He lived in Italy for a while, and he was poor! Ve, he'd better not have had any flamingoes."

"I-I highly doubt that, sir… Let's move on to the produce, shall we?" Thankful to be rid of the subject of the commoner's odd lawn flamingoes, Ludwig proceeded to guide his master along the pathway, stopping to observe a few little handmade trinkets and whatnot before their arrival to a particular shop, one in which meats and seafood were sold plentifully. "Ah, Feliciano, what exactly was on your list again?"

"Hrm… Ah! Veal meat, and some more crabmeat, please~!" he chirped, turning his attention to the family friend who happened to run the shop.

"Hello, Vargas-san," the young man uttered calmly, smiling gently. A Japanese dialect heavily accented his voice as he spoke his greetings to the two approaching men. "It's been a while since I have seen you around. How is your brother? And who is this?"

"Ve, this is Ludwig Beilschmidt! Hey, Ludwig, meet Kiku Honda!" The two unacquainted men soon corrected this title and said their greetings, Ludwig observing Kiku's every last detail- he assumed the criminals to be members of this little Italian society, and since Feliciano knew one was British, he knew that there was a slight chance of another foreigner being involved. The Japanese man had a very peculiar look about him, in the sense that determining his age was exceedingly difficult, and he beheld coffee-brown eyes and jet black locks of hair, forming almost a bit of a bob. He was garbed in a simple periwinkle apron with his hair slightly back in a wrap.

"Pleasure to meet you," Kiku responded gently, handing the packaged meat over to Feliciano. "Am I to assume that you are the new bodyguard for the Vargas family?"

"I-"

"Ve, it's getting late! We gotta hurry!" Feliciano exclaimed out of the blue, tugging forcefully on Ludwig's wrist once more and persistently urging him forward. "Bye, Kiku!"

"Goodbye Vargas-san, Beilschmidt-san." With a brisk wave of the hand, the Japanese man bid them a polite farewell and continued on with his solemn daydreaming.

"Have you known him for long?" Ludwig asked, turning to face his master as they advanced forward.

"Long enough. He moved here from Japan many years ago, when I was only six years old. Ah! There's the stall where Antonio used to live!" His hand motioned in the direction of a quaint stall at the end of the road, fresh fruits and vegetables stacked high upon the little shelves and stands. "His mother and father still live there." At the mentioning of this, his voice began to fade, and his grin was replaced by a rare frown, though soon dissipated back into a saddened smile once more.

Ludwig took the opportunity to see further into the life of his permanent master. "Is everything alright, sir? Forgive me for asking… but, do you miss your mother and father?" He had heard that they had passed away in an accident many years ago, but never really got any input about the subject from either Vargas.

"I miss them a little bit every day." Feliciano stopped walking, staring blankly ahead in a hazed daydream. "They died when I was about fourteen years old. But Lovino was a good enough guardian, and I'm not discouraged about them at all! My parents were always good people, so I know they're in a better place right now! Besides, they wouldn't want me to worry, so why should I? I guess I've just… never seen the purpose of mourning." Ludwig contemplated each word with utter disbelief- he had presumed Feliciano to be rather one-dimensional, all in all, but it seemed as though the young Italian aristocrat standing before him had much more to his soul than met the eye.

Ludwig smiled gently. "I see."

Feliciano retained his silent stature for a few moments more, each passing silence bearing down more and more on the gravity on his words. At last, his facial expression perked up, eyes aglow with a childlike curiosity. "Ve~! What's that?"

And, as he preceded to bound happily toward a bizarre crate of… erm, _unmentionables_ of various shapes and sizes, Ludwig appropriately regretted his decision to accompany his master to the marketplace.

********

"Arthur, sir?" Feliks interrupted the British man's blank stare at the opposite wall, prodding his leader upon the shoulder in attempt to get his attention. Arthur broke his gaze at the wall begrudgingly, having just taken deep interest in its wells of plaster and pools of smoothly-painted cream. The Polish blonde before him grinned sheepishly, clearing his rather phlegm-coated throat before continuing on with his question. "You wanted to see me for something?"

"Yes, Feliks. You're… a decently-swift fellow, are you not?"

"Um, well, I guess… I used to be able to totally blow everyone away with my running! Of course, that was in, like, high school or something…"

"Perfect. I would like you to accompany me tonight. Leave, and tell Yao to come along as well." Arthur rose from his spot upon the elderly couch, earning a few squeaks and creaks of springs from within its busted cushions. "We have a very important task at hand tonight, and I need the elite, agile members of our alliance to escort me."

Feliks allowed his chin to dip down in a hesitant nod, vivid eyes ever-curious. "If I may ask… What're we doing tonight? We aren't catching alley rats for lunch again, are we?"

The Brit uttered a little sputter. "We only did that once, and we were desperate. No, this is much more important." As those words fled his mouth's captivity, Yao Wang burst through the doorway, nearly splinting the door clean off its rusted hinges.

"Sir! We have a lead on Vargas's bodyguard, aru!"

"Perfect. Do tell." Arthur smirked- a rather devious grin, to be honest. It was in times like these that Feliks truly regarded and feared his hardened leader with the utmost respect.

"Well, aru, he's blonde, and quite tall. He is broad-shouldered, broad-chested, and has bright blue eyes. He was last seen wearing a coat of some sort, perhaps for winter." The Asian man's eyes narrowed as his face scrutinized the report within his grasp. "Oh! That could be anyone, aru!"

"I suppose we'll find out who exactly this esteemed bodyguard is soon enough. Yao, you and Feliks are to follow me at approximately one hundred hours tomorrow morning. I expect no delay."

"Yes, sir!" Yao saluted briefly, then lowered his hand in a bit of a flustered confusion. "Excuse me, but… why?"

Arthur whirled around to face the two of them, emerald eyes ablaze in determination. "Because you and Feliks are going to accompany me to the Vargas manor for another break in. And _this time_, there will be no crashing, no shouting, and _no naming_!"

And the three would impatiently await the fall of midnight, upon which they would begin to prepare for their infiltration of the Vargas estate.

* * *

A/N: Well, I have a bit of an inquiry for all of you readers, so please listen up! The little "*" indicates to look down here, so continue reading on. Because of the many little gaps in the plotline that I chose to keep out, such as the lives of the young!Vargas', Matthew's divorce, and Lovino and Antonio's meeting/relationship, I would be pleased to **write a companion** for this story sometime. What I wanna know is if any of you out there would be interested in such a thing. If so, PLEASE tell me so via review or mail. Greatly appreciated~!

And the companion would only be updated when I had absolutely nothing else to do, because, unfortunately, I'm in the middle of three stories right now. Eh heh…

**R&R! And be sure to let me know if the companion should be started sooner than later!**


	9. One Step Forward, Two Steps Into a Pit

A/N: Eh, I didn't get much input on the companion-story thing, so I'll put it off for now, unless you really want one. I could include any background information or story you want on any character- even minor ones like Gilbert! Lemme know what you all want!

Anyway, enjoy this chapter. I really liked writing it, as well as incorporating Feliks, and hope you enjoy it as well.

* * *

"Good night, Ludwig~!" Feliciano chirped, waving his farewell to the German and trudging sleepily up the stairs. Ludwig just sighed in melancholy, turning to sleep on the couch again, assuming Lovino and Antonio would be taking the bedroom again and not particularly wanting to walk in on them a second time. The younger Vargas smiled cheerily, strolling leisurely down the hallway towards his open bedroom door whilst whistling some unknown tune. _I wonder when Lovino and Antonio plan on getting married…_ he pondered as he passed their bedroom. _Maybe it'll be in Italy now! That would be so much fun~! Hrm… Wonder if I'll ever get married? Hm… I can't think of anyone who I would want to marry. There are a lot of pretty girls around, but… none of them really seem like brides. Besides, most of them are married already._ He paused in his whistling to shut his bedroom door behind him, slowly beginning to undress himself for bed. He decidedly left his underwear on, as well as a sleeveless shirt, and had done so since the night of his near-death experience with the criminals- after all, who wanted to be completely naked while getting kidnapped? Or killed… or robbed, even. Wait, was that the right order? Feliciano continued to muse over such trivial ideas as he climbed into bed, throwing the covers above his head and turning out the light beside his bed.

_Well… Lovino's already engaged, and he's my brother, so I can't marry him. Big Brother Antonio's taken, too… Alfred and Matthew are fine, but I don't really know them. Besides, Lovino said it was bad to date commoners. Of course, he's marrying one… hmm… And Ludwig… well, I don't know him either._ Engaged in deep, tranquilizing thoughts, the Italian steadily began to drift off to sleep.

Thankfully, Ludwig's snoring was muffled by the distance separating the two, Alfred and Matthew had gone to bed long ago, Lovino and Antonio were being (strangely) silent in their room. Indeed, all seemed at peace, and each being could only pray that it remain so for the remainder of their lives.

Oh, screw their wants and desires, right?

********

"Francis, I'm leaving you in charge. Make sure Ivan doesn't burn down the inn." Arthur nodded curtly at the Frenchman, returning his attention to Feliks and Yao, who looked a bit preoccupied gazing idly around and avoiding eye contact.

"Of course, _mon cher_," Francis replied smoothly, winking devilishly at the Briton, who was busy intentionally ignoring these vain attempts at flirting. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

"Come on Yao, Feliks." Arthur bid farewell to Francis and Ivan and proceeded along the pathway, cloaked beneath the clouded blanket of night. "Okay, here's the plan- Feliks, you and Yao are to seek out the bodyguard. I'll be waiting around and assuring that no one wakes. Do you two think you can handle something that simple?"

"Of coruse, aru!" Yao commented, hurrying after the other two. "What does the bodyguard look like again?"

"Blonde hair, blue eyes. Broad-shouldered, broad-chested… and isn't he supposed to be tall…? Either way, he should stand out like a sore thumb, so grab him the first chance you get. Don't kill him- just knock him out or something. We need him for blackmail and interrogation and whatnot." Arthur tightened his belt with a muscled heave and rushed hurriedly across town, dodging various stands and the like that dared to stand in his pathway- Feliks and Yao followed in close pursuit behind their beloved English leader, exchanging questioning glances with one another behind the Briton's back.

"So… this seems _totally_ ludicrous," Feliks mumbled under his breath, uttering a slight, barely audible squeak as he came into a clumsy collision with stall packed tightly with oranges. "Why doesn't Arthur do his own dirty work? I feel like an ant, and we have, like, a British queen with hairy eyebrows."

_Interesting analogy…_ Yao rolled his eyes, parting his lips to reply- as well as state his thankfulness that Arthur _didn't_ have antennae- when the grand mansion came slowly into view before them. Ah, the Vargas manor- a majestic grandeur unlike that of any other home in that region of Italy at the time, an envied abode sought out by tourists and civilians alike. Yao had seen the estate in all its magnificence many times before, but still felt goose bumps rise along his arms at the mere sight of such a desirable place to live.

"Alright." Arthur hopped the wall effortlessly, assisting his other two partners-in-crime to climb over the gated barrier. "Remember the plan, and don't fall astray. Tall blonde man, blue eyes, broad upper half. Memorize it. I will await your arrival in the shrubbery over there. And _don't_ say each other's names this time."

"Yes, sir!" Feliks said enthusiastically, saluting a bit mockingly as Yao chuckled once. Arthur responded with a prompt death glare, persuading the Chinese man and the Polish man to proceed with the mission at hand.

"Yo, Yao… how long have you been in Arthur's little gang?" he whispered in a hushed tone as they trudged unwillingly towards the nearest window. Feliks himself had only been a member for a little while, though Ivan was the most recent addition.

"Eh, a while, aru. I was the first person to join after Arthur created this rebel group with Francis. Now focus- I don't want to get yelled at again, aru!"

"Hmm." Feliks grinned in reply, hoisting himself upon the Chinese man's shoulders.

"What- What are you doing? Have you completely lost your mind?!"

"No, no! I'm trying to reach the window on the second floor! That's where they all sleep!" The Polish blonde readjusted his balance on top of his companion's shoulders, wobbling over a bit before regaining his stability. "See? I totally know what I'm do-"

"W-Watch out!" Yao couldn't help but shout in alarm as Feliks' rather torn boot slipped from the shoulder pad, forcing the blonde to the ground and toppling Yao over in the process of plummeting. "Ow!" The Chinese man swore quietly as he rubbed his aching head and glared in irritation at Feliks. "Great, that was really loud, aru! Remember what Arthur said?"

"Oh, forget Arthur! He's the most useless of us all anyway! Let's just use the back door!"

"There's still a half-of-a-security-system back there!"

"Then you make a suggestion! I'm, like, already sick of this!"

Yao huffed, eyebrows knitting together as a migraine began to form in his head. "I don't know, aru. Let's see if any of the windows on the first floor have been left open."

Feliks nodded begrudgingly, pulling up forcefully on the nearest window with no avail. "No luck over here! How about you?"

"Not yet." Yao continued along the wall's vast expanse, tugging on each of the thickly-glossed windows until he, at last, came across one that was wide open entirely, perhaps for a draft of some sort. "Ah! I found one, aru!" he said in a muted pitch, beckoning for his Polish assistant to accompany him with a brisk wave of the hand, barely noticeable in the shadowed abyss of the night. His silhouette glowed dimly from the slightest glint of the moon, its inkling barely managing to peak through the ever-black clouds that lingered above. "Here, help me get in!"

"Got it!" Feliks smiled wider, shoving Yao inside a bit too vehemently and causing the dark-haired man to tumble into the room with a thud. Thankfully, the room itself was barren and lifeless, albeit a slight snore sounded from the room beside it and single spider dangled limply from a mosaic of web upon the windowsill, nearly landing upon Yao's irked form. "Oh, sorry Yao!"

"Come on, we're wasting time, aru!" Yao stood upright, assisting Feliks inside as well before lunging forward, leaning his full weight against the wall as the adrenaline flushed throughout his lithe form. "When I give the single, open the door and enter the next-"

"Hurry up, Yao! We're wasting time, remember?" Feliks, ignoring every utterance spluttered by his companion, -who had begun to lose all inkling of patience that once existed in his body- bounded towards the door, swinging it open and nearly breaking the door off of its hinges in the process. "Come on, then! Let's go kidnap the blondie! This'll be wicked, huh?"

"We haven't succeeded yet." Yao advanced forward cautiously behind Feliks, glancing apprehensively in every which direction as they trekked down the shaded corridor. "Let's try this door." He motioned at one of the doors nearest him, jiggling the handle ever-so-slightly and concluding that it was unlocked.

"What're we waiting for, then? Let's go grab him!"

"Shh! They'll hear you! Wait!" Yao hurried forward, snatching Feliks by the back of his shirt before the Polish man entered the room. "They could be wide awake in there!"

"They aren't!"

"And how do you know?"

"Because they would be able to hear us."

Yao remained silent after that little retort- for really, what could he say? It was the honest, pathetic truth. "Fine, aru. But be quick about it! Bash him on the head with something after I gag him with this sash! Then we'll stick him in the sack and leave!"

"Got it." The blonde criminal swung the door open a crack, peering into its depths of midnight onyx. "There are two people in here," he whispered, treading lightly across the bamboo-wood flooring. "Which one is the right one?"

"The blonde one, aru!"

"It's kind of hard to tell!" he hissed back, lingering over to the bedside. "Wait, I think this is the one! He's a bit more broad-shouldered than the other!"

"Shh!"

********

The next morning, the Vargas estate's inhabitants would awaken to a nasty surprise.

First, Alfred had eaten all of the tiramisu in the refrigerator. That was always a letdown.

Second, there was a handwritten note on the countertop, read first by Feliciano upon springing downstairs that morning.

_Vargas,_

_You have evaded us far too long. Now we have taken matters into our own hands, and have taken your bodyguard into our custody. I can assure you, he will be perfectly safe, as long as you come over calmly. Well, no, we can't assure that, aru, but we can try._

_That is all. Enjoy the next few weeks you have left to live._

_With love and a box of bite-sized cookies,_

_Your Criminal Neighbors_

_P.S. We were totally joking about the love cookies. And the neighbor thing. Aren't we, like, so ev~~~~~_

The last bit of the letter had evidently been scribbled out, perhaps in haste by another criminal. Regardless, this peculiar note left nothing in dispute- Ludwig Beilschmidt had been kidnapped by the same criminals who had broken into the house, as well as harming Antonio (not that anybody else present knew about that besides Lovino and said injured man).

"Ve~!" Feliciano shouted in alarm, tears streaming his face in fear for his new companion's life. "Ludwig~! Ah, they've taken him! What're we going to do? Somebody say something! And where are the cookies? I want some!"

_They just said that there weren't any…_ Matthew thought, sighing deeply. _Either that, or Alfred took them. Wait a minute…_ The Canadian snatched the letter from Feliciano's hands, Lovino glancing unenthusiastically at the note from behind Matthew's back.

"Hmm, wonder what they've done with Ludwig…" Antonio mumbled, nibbling on a freshly-made churro at the kitchen table.

"What does it matter? He's just some worthless potato bastard…" Lovino grumbled, crossing his arms at his brother's sudden arm-flailing. The younger Vargas proceeded to run around wildly in circles, like a boxer dog chasing its nonexistent tail, shrieking incoherent gibberish mingled with modern Italian.

"Why potatoes, might I ask?" Ludwig questioned, leaning his weight against the doorframe.

"Because all of you Germans are- Wait, what? Why are you-?" Lovino blinked a few times, and then collapsed onto a nearby chair in a huff. "Oh, dammit, he's still here!"

"Of course I'm still here." Ludwig shrugged, though soon found himself on the floor after a gleeful tackle by the younger Vargas boy, who commenced in expressing his happiness that the German hadn't been kidnapped after all. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Wait! Somebody listen to me, please!" Matthew begged, voice not much louder than its typically quiet tone. Antonio and Ludwig turned to face him, eyebrows raised in question. "They didn't kidnap Ludwig! Someone else is missing from our house!"

"I'm here!" Feliciano chirped, flapping his hand about in the air.

"As am I," Ludwig muttered.

"Me too! And so is Lovi~!"

"Don't call me that, bastard!"

Matthew sighed, pacing back and forth with a nervous skip in his step. "I know, I know! They grabbed the wrong person!"

"Who, ve?"

********

Previously that night, Feliks and Yao had hustled towards the bushes, where Arthur awaited their return.

"It certainly took you long enough," Arthur commented, arms crossed as he shook a leaf from atop his head. "But it looks like your got the bodyguard."

"Yep~!" Feliks said gleefully, success swelling up within. "Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad on top!"

Yao merely nodded, hoisting the sack upon his shoulder while they began their return to the inn, where Francis and Ivan were waiting, likely playing a game of strip poker or something to that degree… not that Ivan would ever agree to that sober.

"This walk, like, gets longer every time…" Feliks complained, trudging in a slump beside Arthur and Yao as the inn began to unveil itself from beyond the horizon. "Yes, finally! HQ!"

Indeed, the trio passed by Francis and Ivan on the way in, though they were fast asleep, strangely clothed, on the carpet flooring below. Arthur rolled his eyes, shaking his head in dismay as he gestured for Yao and Feliks to trail him into the backroom. "Alright, you two. Help me get the sack off of him." The two underlings complied, untying the strings which bound the sack at the top. The cloth fabric fell to the ground, revealing the paranoid, grumbling blonde inside…

… A blonde with glasses, a strangely-irritating cowlick, and wide blue eyes brimming over with fearful tears.

Arthur cocked an eyebrow, frowning a bit. _Some bodyguard._

* * *

A/N: Leave it to Feliks and Yao to snatch the wrong blonde-haired, blue-eyed man.

Eh, I've been having an incredibly stressful day, with life and whatnot, and haven't been getting many reviews for any stories lately. Spare a review, or even some hard criticism? Anything is welcome, so please let your voice be heard and relieve my stress. I also want to know your opinions on a companion, please, and let me know what short stories and characters you want in there.

**R&R!****QHQ**


	10. Chronicles of a Captured Butler

Well, to say that the presence of Alfred Franklin Jones was distracting could very easily be the greatest understatement of the decade.

Approximately three weeks had passed since the original kidnap of the so-called "bodyguard", which had been followed quite suddenly by the realization of Feliks' and Yao's mistake- for this blonde man was not the individual they were supposed to have captured. Alfred was, in fact, the head butler of the manor, and had been mistaken for the actual bodyguard due to the lack of clarification between Alfred and Ludwig. Of course, that had not, by any means, been their faults entirely, as Arthur had not received the full story or details from his sources. Regardless, one thing was certain- this obnoxious butler would all but drive them batty in the time spent at their headquarters.

But, alas, as greatly as Arthur and the others wished to send the American back, they all knew it would be a foolish task. After all, in these three weeks that had passed, Alfred had managed to acquire both the names and the faces of his captors, as well as their foreign speech patterns. Therefore, the (seemingly) villainous group remained steadfast in their watch on him, keeping at least one man by the door of his room of imprisonment- one of the abandoned rooms of the inn, near the back of the crumbling building.

Alfred, on the other hand, was not, by any means, unhappy. While he may have completely freaked upon his arrival to their lair- by means of trying to run and tripping, knocking over a dusty vase and causing a rather large crash- they had not treated him nearly as cruelly as he would have expected, had anyone told him he would be in such a predicament. He would get fed once a day- this was his only genuine complaint- and it usually consisted of something Polish that Feliks had cooked. It wasn't quite his taste, but wasn't entirely horrible either- just different. He was given water whenever he asked, and was allowed to shower once a week, lest Arthur get "completely disgusted by such a disgraceful stench!". They hadn't even bothered to tie him up much- Ivan had bound his hands together and locked the doors and windows, but other than that Alfred was free to roam and whatnot as he pleased.

So far, the American had managed to keep up with the members of the group, though he hadn't the slightest clue for their last names, as his captors had at least had enough knowledge to keep those hushed.

First, there was Arthur, the leader of the posse. At first glance, those bushy eyebrows could launch a nuclear bomb and blow up what little respect Alfred already had, but Arthur was not, by any means, one to be trifled with- which, in all honesty, was the exact reason why the butler enjoyed pestering him so much. Complete with a heavy British accent and a sharp tongue, the Englishman was the perfect target for bothering, thus giving Alfred more reason to do so when bored. Arthur did_ not_, however, enjoy this means of harassment, and would often either blow up in the American's face or huff off, mumbling little swears under his breath as he would stalk away.

Francis was the second-in-command, as well as a possible lover of Arthur- the only reason Alfred wasn't certain was because Francis seemed to flirt with _everybody_. Hell, the Frenchman had even come into his room on a number of occasions and tried to flirt with the enemy- thankfully, whoever was one guard usually managed to stop the aggravation- _usually_. Alfred didn't particularly like to go into the shady details of the one time that Yao had fallen asleep on guard duty.

Yao, on the other hand, seemed to contrast the two blondes in every physical way possible- he was Asian, with dark hair and eyes to match, and was beyond feminine. Honestly, Alfred didn't even know what gender Yao was until about a week prior. Yao was friendly enough, and had a bit more patience than his British leader, but did seem to get irritated easily as well, and constantly complained about his job, as he felt he was the least important of the group and wished Arthur would give him a bit more of a chance to prove himself once more, since his last little mishap with Feliks and the bodyguard assignment.

Feliks was, quite possibly, the most bizarre of the group- definitely the one who stood out the most as being different. This man, clearly Polish by the mild accent, spoke strongly about his beliefs, all the while lacing them with the language of a "valley girl". Seriously, if Alfred heard one more "like" or "totally" out of that guy, his head would explode tenfold- not to mention the way Feliks always felt like talking. When on guard duty, the Polish man would enter the room with the captured butler and start a random conversation, sometimes with no relevancy whatsoever; two days previous, he had started talking to Alfred about painting the front office pink, and how "totally wicked" it would be. The only people able to make him shut up once in a while were Arthur and Ivan.

Ivan was, by far, the creepiest of the group. He had come into the room on guard duty once, holding a bottle of vodka and ranting in a drunken stupor- thus he began talking to Alfred about how desperately he wanted to wring Arthur's neck sometimes, smiling genuinely all the while. Needless to say, Alfred knew enough to shut up around that guy- he never intended to start an in-depth conversation with that psychopath again. Ivan didn't seem particularly fond of him either- probably because of his American roots. 'Twas a shame, but Alfred greatly appreciated the lack-of-companionship he had with this guy.

There were others of their group, scattered throughout town and around the globe, but this seemed to be the primary group of criminals- if they could even be called that. While they had broken a few laws here and there- (failed, achieved, and then semi-failed again) breaking and entering, (failed) abduction, and (unbeknownst to Alfred) (failed) attempted manslaughter- they weren't by any means your average group of bad guys… really, they acted a bit more like a failure high school club. They were quite easily the most dysfunctional gang he had witnessed in his life- not that Alfred had really ever met any other felons before that.

Ah well, regardless, they kept life interesting. All the same, he couldn't help but wonder what the rest of his newly-found family was doing back at the manor.

* * *

Matthew gazed solemnly out the window, fogging up the glass a bit with each inhale and exhale that passed his lips. "I wonder how long it will be until Alfred is found…" he mumbled, barely audible in the noise of the mansion. Of course, the manor had been relatively quiet since the kidnapping had occurred, each a bit unable to say much in the midst of it all. Most conversations either involved Feliciano asking about something obvious, Lovino and Antonio bickering about the new wedding plans, and Ludwig insisting that he was _not _a "potato bastard". Matthew, on the other hand, had been even more silent than usual, if that was even possible. While he had been separated from his brother for most of his life, nor had he ever had any sort of intense bonding with him, he did love Alfred, to a certain extent, and missed his twin greatly.

"Who knows?" Ludwig mumbled, sipping his cup of coffee at the bar in the kitchen. "The authorities are on a search, and we've been asking around, but nobody seems to know anything." Things had been rather nerve-racking for him as well, from the odd requests by Feliciano and the insults of Lovino to the frequent calls from his brother back in Germany. He had had enough socializing for a lifetime, he figured, but said nothing about his need for quiet and continued speaking. "We don't even know if he's still alive."

"He is. I can feel it." Matthew narrowed his eyes of violet, eyebrows drawing into a thin line above them._ Come to think of it, we do need a butler, though, at least until Alfred returns. He was not killed, and nobody is ever going to convince me that he has. Damn it, Alfred, what have you gotten yourself into this time, you stupid American?_

"I told you, Antonio!" Lovino argued, approaching from upstairs as the clock struck time for lunch. "We don't even know what we're doing for our wedding; we _don't_ need to order a cake already!"

"Aw, come on, Lovi!" the Spaniard persisted, following closely behind his fiancée. "At least consider it! We need to get something that everybody else will like! Not _everybody's_ going to want a chocolate cake, or an almond cake. We should just get white to make things easier."

"What? White cake? There's no way in hell I'm getting a white cake! Anybody who doesn't want an almond cake can forget about the fucking party and go out to a bar or something! This is about us, not them!"

Antonio sighed, rolling his eyes and grabbing a slice of bread off of the countertop, slabbing some butter on it with a knife. "If this is about us, then why not just go with a tomato cake?" He grinned at such a thought, snickering a bit. "It would fit perfectly~!"

"You're not being serious!" Lovino plopped down upon a barstool before noticing his close proximity to Ludwig's stool and scooting to the opposite end of the bar to glare daggers at his not-so-soon-to-be husband. "A tomato cake? That's probably the stupidest thing I've heard you say in the past year!"

"What? Quit being so sour about everything! It's not cute at all!" The Spanish man stole a glance down at the knife before a broader smile graced his face and he reached forward, smearing a bit of butter on the stubborn Italian's nose. "Now _that's_ cute!"

"W-Why… You _bastard!_" he snarled, face a furiously embarrassed shade of crimson, grabbing an orange off of a platter and preparing to throw it directly at the other's face.

"Shut up, both of you!" Matthew snapped from his spot at the windowsill. The four in the room froze immediately, startled at the sudden, uncharacteristic outburst by the Canadian. Lovino lowered his hand, crossing his arms in irritated defeat while Ludwig returned to his coffee. Feliciano proceeded to cook over in the corner, being strangely quiet amongst all of this as he whistled a tune.

Antonio, on the other hand- whose smile had fallen at the Canadian's yelling- allowed his lips to upturn the slightest and wiped off his fiancée's nose with his thumb, licking the butter off of his finger with a swift tongue movement. "Fine, we'll talk about this later. Matthew looks like he wants some peace."

Matthew did, indeed wish for a moment of peaceful quiet, but the serenity was broken abnormally quickly as a shaky rapping sounded from the front door, causing the servant to jump in alarm, nearly losing his glasses in the process. He hurried over to the front of the building, gripping the handle and pulling it open reluctantly as he peered outside at the man standing on the front porch. There was a reason he was never the butler- opening a door and greeting somebody was a particularly difficult task for him. "Hello?"

"O-Oh!" the man stuttered, a bit startled as well. "Is this the Vargas estate? I'm here to apply for a job…" This man sounded ultimately down about something, though there was no way of knowing what at that specific moment.

Matthew blinked a few times, a bit unsure of what to say, given this man's state of being. He wore a simple, pine-green suit, his shoulder-length brunette hair cascading over his flushed, anxious cheeks. "U-Um, yes it is. What would you like to apply for?"

"Whatever you have open!" he exclaimed suddenly hastily, and Matthew could nearly see the sweat pouring down his forehead. "P-Please, I really, _really_ need this job. You won't understand why, but… It's just important, alright? Can I or not?"

"Um… I'm sure that would be fine. Feli!" the Canadian shouted down the vast hall, awaiting the youngest Vargas to peek his head around the corner before asking his question. "Can this man apply for a job here?"

"Ve, of course he can~!" Feliciano chirped, waving his hands about in a greeting. "Maybe he can be a butler until Alfred gets back! What's your name?"

The man entered, hands trembling as he exhaled a sigh of relief. "Toris… Toris Lorinaitis."

* * *

"Alright, here's your meal for the day," Arthur grumbled, scowling as the American approached him with a hopeful smile upon that obnoxious face of his. The Briton was utterly disgusted by the younger blonde's eating habits, but they couldn't' afford to supply him with forks and knives, so remained contented enough averting their eyes when their prisoner was to eat something. "Feliks has a cold, so I cooked it this time."

"Ooh~! Something new?" Alfred bounded forward, snatching the platter of (oozing goop…?) from the hands of the Brit, gobbling down a rather large bite and nearly gagging in the process. "What the hell is this?"

"S-Scones… Oh, give me those!" Deeply offended, Arthur snatched the plate away from the ungrateful nuisance and ate a few for himself. "They're perfectly fine! You just have no taste! You and your bloody American food…"

"Our food is_ not_ bloody! And even if it was, it would be better than your scones, I'm sure! Who's ever heard of _green_ scones anyway?!"

"Sh-Shut up! Wanker…" Dropping the food at Alfred's feet, he trudged off, muttering something to Francis before stalking off yet again into his room and slamming the door shut. The Frenchman sighed, winking at the American in a way that made Alfred's stomach churn in uneasiness.

"So sorry about that, _mon ami_- he gets offended when people insult his cooking skills… or lack thereof… I could make you something, I suppose. It may come at a price, though…"

"I-I'm good for now," Alfred stammered, chuckling in discomfort. "I'm not that hungry right now anyway…"

Okay, so maybe he did miss the mansion. Oh, who was Alfred kidding? This place was a hellhole, and if he ever wished to escape it, he would have to think of a plan on his own.

Ah! He could…

No, that probably wouldn't work…

Oh! Or maybe-

Nope, that was stupid…

Maybe he could…?

…

Alright, so Alfred was ultimately screwed.

* * *

A/N: Six reviews for one chapter? Thanks to you all~! Sadly, that's a lot in my book… Think we can hit at least six more this time? :D

Sorry if this chapter was a bit… lacking. I'm at home with an allergy issue or a cold or something, and I'm not feeling the greatest. But I felt like writing…

**The companion is up! Go check it out on my page- the second chapter is getting uploaded in a little while!**

**R&R~! Six more? A least?**


	11. A Month's Time Brings Canadian Coffee

**A/N: Alright, everyone was begging for more GerIta, which I intended to put into this chapter anyway, so here it is~! This is a very progressive relationship- they aren't just going to randomly start making out, sorry. We'll start off by revealing a little snippet of what has happened in the past few months, and what every character thinks about it, and then proceed with the little Luddy-Feli bonding~!**

* * *

Ludwig Beilschmidt had never been a particularly grumpy man when it came to waking up in the morning. Seldom would he ever dream of breaking his routine of awakening, getting out of bed five minutes later, and walking leisurely into the kitchen to brew himself a mug of scalding-hot coffee. 'Twas only on those exceptional days that said habit would ever be thrown out, and it was those days that the German man found himself brooding over every little event that occurred in his bland lifestyle. Needless to say, this often brought upon a relatively crappy mood, and such was the way Ludwig would start off this day, nearly a month after he had come to work under the Vargas household.

A month… had such a great amount of time truly passed? Indeed, it seemed more and more unbelievable- that he had come to meet this unorthodox, dysfunctional "family" and join up under the ranks of a bodyguard. Definitely contrasting his former position in the military, without a doubt. And, yet, Ludwig's opinions on his master had not ceased to blur and muddle up. Feliciano Vargas was, quite possibly, the most unidentifiable man he knew, as far as personality quirks. While at times the Italian acted with cowardice, gluttony, and all around obliviousness to the real world, he also did so with a greater heart than anyone he had ever met. Every action taken by that little nuisance was well-intended, and he never seemed to wish anything too ill upon anyone- although he _had_ wished once that the kidnappers would get a headache and give Alfred back. Needless to say, that didn't happen.

Regardless, Feliciano intrigued him to no end. Sadly, that was a bit pathetic, but considering he would be spending a lifetime with the aristocrat, he figured it was better to fully understand his master.

So, then, what was it that had gotten Ludwig in such a sour mood that morning? No, it was not the crick in his neck, nor was it the fact that Lovino had cursed him out before leaving for the marketplace the day before. The only source of Ludwig's irritation dwelled solely from his brother.

Gilbert Beilschmidt had called earlier that morning, announcing that he was going to come and visit his sibling at the semi-new job. As if Ludwig actually wanted the other German finding out about his little predicament- not to mention that his arrival would also endanger Gilbert of injury by the hands of the criminals. Although the felons had not shown their faces since Alfred's kidnap, there was no doubt in Ludwig's mind that they would return soon, be it for the money or the throats of the Vargas brothers.

And to top it all off, Gilbert would be arriving in three days.

Needless to say, his life would royally suck until the departure of his brother- whenever that may be.

Matthew Williams, on the other hand, had been having just as rotten of luck as his German companion. Alfred had been missing for weeks, without so much as a sign that he was alive and well, giving the Canadian reason to worry himself out of his wits. Why, honestly, who wouldn't completely lose their mind after the kidnap of their closest sibling? It was bad enough that he was getting over his divorce, but to lose his brother on top of it all? It was like a part of him had been sliced off and ripped apart directly in front of him. And it took all of his minimal sanity that remained to restrain himself from going ballistic on the spot.

So, really, why shouldn't he have been utterly flustered when Ludwig mentioned his brother coming in three days time?

"What?! Are you… have you lost it? I'm only one man- I can't clean and prepare everything by then! I'll lose my mind trying to get everything ready by then!" And, even though he was shouting as loud as he could bring himself to yell, Ludwig had to strain himself just to make out the words that were being spoken.

"I know." The German blonde sighed, rubbing his eyes exhaustedly with the back of his hand. "I'll help in any way I can, and I'm sure the others will, too. There's just no convincing Gilbert once he's made up his mind."

"Ugh!" Matthew rolled his eyes, readjusting his glasses and plopping down into one of the kitchen chairs. "I can't believe this… I'll go crazy!" He directed his violet gaze for the briefest of moments, watching the warm coffee drip slowly into the German's mouth and down his throat, ultimately relaxing every muscle in his body. "Hey, Ludwig, have any coffee left?"

"Er, yes, I think so. I thought you didn't like to drink-"

"I'm having some. I need it." With those final words, the Canadian slumped out of his chair and wobbled over to the countertop upon which the coffeemaker sat.

And then there was Toris- the ever-flustered young man who never seemed to take a moment's rest. He was beyond suspicious to Ludwig and Lovino, while Feliciano and Antonio had welcomed him with open arms. Matthew was cautious, as usual, but didn't entirely distrust the guy, as he seemed genuine with his actions and whatnot. Quite possibly the most puzzling thing about this Lithuanian man was his habit of sleeping in until about one o' clock every afternoon. It was entirely inexplicable- after all, he went to bed the earliest, in comparison to the others living at the mansion- but most of them thought nothing of it. And, indeed, as Ludwig and Matthew made idle chatter downstairs, Toris was fast asleep in his bed, twitching a bit as he fought off a fitful dream.

Honestly, that was likely the thing that bothered Ludwig and Lovino the most about the peculiar man- he always acted as though some foul demon were out for his soul, and surely that was not the case. However, it seemed pretty clear to the two that Toris was hiding something, and they intended to find out, as well as if it had any sort of relationship with the criminals and Alfred's kidnapping.

And then there were Lovino and Antonio, who had bickered even more so than the week before, if at all possible. Needless to say, the majority of the members of the household were more than sick of hearing them argue over what kind of eggs to have in the morning, or when they should consider buying a new skillet for cooking. Anymore, it seemed as though marriage was out of the topic of discussion and they had, instead, moved on to more trivial subjects. Of course, they had their little spats behind the backs of everyone else- particularly about the gunshot sound that still lied, stitched and raw, upon the Spaniard's forearm.

"You idiot!" Lovino snapped, his voice hushed in attempt to mask his angry tone from the rest of the household downstairs. He and his fiancée sat upon the bed in their room- Antonio had just removed the bandage upon his arm to check its health (or lack thereof). In all honesty, it appeared much more gruesome to Lovino than before, and had begun to grow a puffy red ring around the outside. "Haven't you been putting the ointment on?"

"Yeah, I don't know why it's not healing yet!"

"It's not going to heal for another six months, you imbecile! And with the way it looks now, we'll be lucky if it ever does! It looks like it's getting infected too… Damn it…"

Lastly, there was Feliciano, who had been having, quite possibly, the most interesting past month of his life. He had met a variety of people from around the world, nearly gotten killed, and had a friend kidnapped in the course of four weeks- most people sure couldn't brag about something like that! Truly, it all appeared a bit ludicrous to most, but Feliciano was sure that no one else could brag of such a thrilling lifestyle. Not that the thrills were all that happy- in fact, the younger Vargas was feeling exceptionally down about Alfred being gone. Nobody else in the manor could really relate to him quite as well as the American had. Lovino was being his usual sour, jackass self. Matthew was being a mood-swingy, depressed ghost- one which Feliciano oftentimes had trouble noticing was around anymore. Toris was… well, he didn't know a whole lot about the Lithuanian, so it wasn't like they could engage in any real conversation. Antonio was probably the most relatable, but with his odd, newly found habits of cringing whenever Feli patted him on the shoulder made him almost untouchable- not to mention he already _had _his hands full with the sour jackass.

And, lastly, there was Ludwig. He hadn't really spent much time with Ludwig either, even though the German was incredibly interesting. He would often shadow around the other man, asking questions and helping out whenever assistance was required. Anymore, however, Ludwig had kind of kept to himself, and always acted like he was thinking strategically within his mind.

Of course, it wasn't like Ludwig completely rejected him being around either. Lovino had pushed Feliciano away since their childhood, Antonio had been flinching away anytime Feli raised his hand, Matthew was being… well, half of the time he didn't even know the Canadian was around. Toris was sleeping, as usual… Well, that left only the German, right?

And thus Feliciano created his master plan, but found it to be useless and instead went with Plan B. Besides, unlike Plan A, Plan B _did not_ involve wasting a perfectly good bottle of marinara.

* * *

"Ve~! You have a brother? And he's coming here?" Feliciano grinned broadly, taking a seat beside a rather uneasy Ludwig and a jittery, caffeinated Matthew. "That's great, Ludwig~!"

"Hmph. You haven't met Gilbert." Ludwig cast a sidelong glance at the Italian, who was gazing at him with the utmost interest, as well as that stupid, curious expression he always wore. "He's a pain in the ass that does nothing but laze around all day and go on about how awesome he is. Trust me; you probably won't hit it off."

"Aw, I'm sure he's not that bad! He is your brother, after all! Brothers are great to have around, right Lovino?"

"Shut up."

"See?" Feliciano continued to smile, slurping down a large mug of milk and wiping the milk moustache from his upper lip with a napkin, ultimately pleased with his sibling's unusual display of affection. "And Matthew loved Alfred, right?"

"Hmm." Matthew said nothing, fingers trembling from both the nerves and the caffeine.

"Well, if we need to prepare the house, let's get to it~! I'll dust and wash the countertops, Ludwig can help me. Matthew, you've got the bedrooms. Lovino, you and Antonio take mopping and scrubbing the bathrooms, and Toris-" Yet, glancing around, the Lithuanian was nowhere to be found. "Must still be sleeping. He can take yard duty later."

"W-Wait…" Lovino mumbled, arms crossed as his lips bore that typical frown. "Can the idiot and I take bedrooms instead?" The last thing he wanted was for Matthew to discover the bloodstains and ointment over the furniture and question what exactly had gone on in there. Nobody needed to find out about the gun issue in the midst of all of this turmoil.

"Hmm… If Matthew doesn't mind. Ve, let's get to it!"

Matthew sighed, sipping the last of his coffee. "Fine, I'll take bathroom duty. Jeez, you aristocrats are all the same… Hate to get your hands dirty…"

"R-Right… Come on, Antonio!" Without awaiting another questioning glance, the elder Vargas brother snatched the Spaniard by the arm, careful to avoid the spot of injury, and dragged him upstairs.

"Hm. Odd." Matthew sighed, grabbing a mop from the cabinet beside the stairwell and getting to work.

Feliciano, grinning all the while, whisked the washcloth from the sink and proceeded to swab down the countertops. "Come on, Ludwig! Grab a sponge and help me wash this thing off!"

Ludwig sighed, rolling his sapphire eyes and feeling his lips quirk upward in the slightest motion- after all, smiling was quite contagious, and the sight of Feliciano's grin seemed to brighten the day of even the sourest man on earth. However, something must have gone wrong- be it the way his nose crinkled (as if he were grinning sadistically) or the way the veins in his neck stuck out (as though he were grimacing), his master gave a little cry of alarm and the smile instantly faded from his face, little exclamations erupting from his mouth such as "Ah! Ludwig's gonna kill me~! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Thus the reason that Ludwig didn't try that again for the next few hours.

Grabbing a sponge from the cabinet below the sink, the German advanced onward, wiping down the areas of the counter that Feliciano had failed to notice, scrubbing with the utmost precision. _Why is he making _me_ do all of this? Although, really, Gilbert probably wouldn't mind the house being filthy- not like he keeps our old home clean. Leave it to Gilbert to get in the way of everything… As if Alfred's disappearance wasn't enough!_

"Ve~! Ludwig! Look out!" The words had scantly enough time to process in the blonde's head before the German's sponge slipped upon the soaked marble and flung into the air, landing right atop the younger Vargas' head and moistening his hair with bubbles of soap and water. "Hnnn…?" The Italian looked as though he would burst into tears at any given moment, but soon this frown was replaced by a broader smile that Ludwig had witnessed in his lifetime, and Feliciano erupted into a fit of laughter.

"Um… sir…?" Yet the Italian never quite his incessant laughing fit. Hastily, Ludwig swiftly snatched the sponge from his master's head, though felt a little smile grace his lips once more as his companion continued to giggle. And, thankfully, this smile must not have been the sign of the devil, as Feliciano smiled in return at his grumpy bodyguard's sudden happiness.

"My name's Feliciano! Call me Feli, not sir! It makes me sound so old…" As the laughter slowly dissipated into the air, Feliciano continued to scrub the countertop, smiling all the while and whistling a happy tune to himself.

"Hey, Feli?!" Lovino called down, appearing at the bottom of the stairs quickly with a bit of heat rushed to his face, likely from all of the vigorous working. "Where'd you put the window cleaner?"

"In the west bathroom cabinet."

Lovino gave a curt nod and turned to return up the stairs when something caught his eye- and, coincidentally, Ludwig saw a slight glimpse of something uncharacteristic as well. Upon Lovino's right sleeve was a barely-noticeable splatter of crimson, what he could only assume to be blood. What possibly could have…?

"Hey, potato-freak! What are you staring at?" The elder Vargas narrowed his eyes in distrust, paying closer attention to what he had previously seen. "So, it's true then! Alright, you sick bastard, what did you do to Feli?!"

"What on earth are you talking about? And quit calling me a potato freak!"

"Don't think I don't see Feli's hair!"

Ludwig cocked an eyebrow, arms crossed in confusion and impatience. "What're you…?"

"The curl, you idiot! Feli, get away from him!"

"Hold on, what about it?" Ludwig inquired, genuinely curious. The little curl that swayed from the nobleman's head and directed itself to the left of his face had always been a curious thing to Ludwig, but he had never assumed it to be anything he could violate. In fact, it looked precisely as it had earlier, except for the bit of moisture that had accumulated upon it from the sponge…

Wait… Moisture? But that still wasn't too odd, right? Nothing weird about wet hair…

"It's fine, Lovino! Go back upstairs and keep working!" Feliciano flapped his hand a bit in a farewell wave as his brother begrudgingly trudged back up the steps. All the same, Ludwig couldn't help but shrug his shoulders in confusion as he continued to clean.

What was this about a curl?

* * *

Day turned to night as the cleaning was put to rest for the remainder of the day, and all beings of the household had sleepily gone off to bed to live in their dreams for the rest of the darkness. The sun was replaced by the ever-mysterious moon, and the shadows recast themselves upon the Vargas estate. All was abysmal, all was silent, until a single glint shone from outside of Feliciano's bedroom door.

The glint of a shotgun.

* * *

**A/N: Was this too fail? Lemme know… This chapter was longer than most of the others! Not much happened between Feli and Ludwig, but it's coming… gradually… unless Feli is shot. Then there will be much sadness. More on this and the criminals next time!**

**Thanks for the reviews again~! Seven this time… let's go for eight! Ten? Twenty?! **_**(I wish…)**_

**R&R~!**


	12. And So It Begins

A/N: Sorry if this chapter was rather short and filler-y, but more is coming next time, I swear! I won't have much time to write over the next few weeks due to exams and family matters, but felt the need to get this out.

* * *

As the weaponry was held cautiously out, trembling slightly in the hands of its beholder, a single gleam of light cast itself from the moon down upon the estate, directing a single beam of light to, ever-so-slightly, reveal the face of the man who held the gun within his grasp.

The face of Toris Lorinaitis.

_What am I doing…?_ he asked himself mentally, hands shaking with the utmost uneasiness. Indeed, a constant tremor seemed to rack his body beyond belief as he stood before the youngest Vargas' door, shotgun- or perhaps it was a pistol, as the Lithuanian never was good at identifying weaponry- poised and prepared to fire the killing blow. _This isn't me. I would never do something like this. Why on earth would Ivan insist on me doing this, when he knows I can't kill someone? Especially the Vargas kid. He's been so nice to me…_ He cursed silently under his breath, shutting his eyes tight with worried turmoil within. _No, no… I have to do this. The consequences for not heeding Ivan's orders are far worse than taking the life of this young man, I'm sure._

With those final thoughts, he took another hesitant step towards the door, reached out with a single, wary hand, and turned the knob, pulling back the door gradually until the sleeping form of Feliciano came into plain sight- or, at least, as clearly as it possibly could be in the night's darkness. _All the same, why would Ivan want me to get rid of this guy in the first place? He has done nothing to wrong that psychotic man! Of course, Ivan still hasn't told any of us why he is following Arthur's orders to begin with… What am I going to do?_

A heavy sigh compressing his chest, Toris hesitantly lowered the gun, swiping a humiliated tear hurriedly from his eye. _Am I really this pathetic? I can't even take down a sleeping coward…_ _But it's just not right. To kill Feliciano would be to kill a part of myself as well- a part that I'm holding onto dearly. What am I to this world anyway? Nobody seems to care that I'm around half of the time._

Toris slumped to the ground, utterly and horribly defeated. Perhaps he was just overreacting. _No, no. I haven't spoken to Feliks in years, and Natalia seems completely oblivious to my existence half of the time. Eduard's alright, I guess…_

"Ve…?" Such a familiar, childishly-adult voice strung the violin of worry within the soul of the Lithuanian, jolting him into a frenzied stupor as he struggled to stand from his spot on the ground. Averting his jade eyes towards the bed, Feliciano had, indeed, sat up in bed, fully awake and comprehending all that occurred in the blind world around him. "Is that you, Ludwig? Lovino? Hello~?"

_He can't see… Brilliant._ "U-Uh, no, no. It's Toris- I was just checking to make sure…" _Come on, come up with an excuse! Quickly!_ "…make sure that you were sleeping all right. I've heard that too much pasta before bed can give you temporary insomnia."

"Oh…" Alright- that was, quite possibly, _the_ worst excuse he had made up in his lifetime. Toris cringed, expecting the worst. _Temporary insomnia? From a freakin' bowl of pasta?! Yeah, right… Stupid, stupid-! _"Ve, alright! Thanks for checking on me, but I'm sleeping fine!"

Toris parted his lips to respond, but felt that no reply would be legitimate for this situation. So, instead, he chose to stand there dumbly with his mouth wide open and his eyes large as melons. Never prior to meeting Feliciano would he ever have expected some stupid, absurd excuse like that to actually work. "I'm glad." And he finally allowed his lips to shut, smiling gently, genuinely. "If you don't need anything else, sir, I'll be heading to bed now too."

"Okay! _Buono notte~!_" With those final words, Feliciano leaned back against the comfort of his feather pillow and shut his eyes. Toris sighed once more, though this time with more of a wrongfully relieved demeanor. _I think I could get used to living here. Perhaps I can get a real job somewhere nice like this… someday._ That was it. Toris Lorinaitis was throwing in the towel and never looking back once. He had found his family- his _real _family-and no Russian convict was going to keep him away from them… er, for now.

"By the way, Toris?" Feliciano mumbled into his pillow, turning to face the shadowed face of the replacement butler.

"Yes, Feli?"

"Why are you carrying a gun?"

And so would begin Toris' (fictional) story of rat-hunting.

* * *

"Ungh…" Arthur grumbled as his bare back met the wall rather uncomfortably. Francis, on the other hand, was having the equally-drunken time of his life, taking full advantage of the Briton being drunk by making himself equally so. "Damn it, frog. Be more careful!"

"Jeez– hic- haven't you ever done this before?" The Frenchman, equally unclothed, merely forced Arthur further against the wall, grinding their hips together in a sensual attempt at getting what he truly wanted. "Always complaining…"

"Of course I'm complaining, you- _nngh_…" A humiliating moan elicited from his throat as a warm, alcohol-flavored tongue brushed against his lips. "Stop that, you-"

"You know, people don't typically _run their mouths during sex_, but if you insist on ruining the intimacy of our relationship-"

"What relationsip?! You've done nothing but-"

He chuckled in a lighthearted irritation. "Shut up." Francis forced him further against the wall, lips meeting those of the Englishman with a fervent, drunken desire. Arthur relaxed at the comforting massage of lips against lips, though still refused to grant the other blonde what he wanted and shoved the Frenchman away with a push on the shoulder. Francis, on the other hand, clearly didn't see things his way- what else is new?- and instead pursued further still, nibbling hungrily, lustfully at the soft cartilage of the Briton's ear. Arthur emitted another stifled moan and raised his arm- to slap the Frenchman or to deepen the sensuality?- when a voice called from the adjacent room and broke them out of their failed moment of not-quite-lovemaking.

"Artie~! I have to use the bathroom!"

"What the hell?" Arthur slurred, stumbling away from Francis with a bottle of rum in hand. "Not that American again… Can't he find the damned bathroom himself…?"

"No, _mon cher_, he's locked in his room, remember? Go ahead; I'll wait for you to come back. We can pick up where we left off~!"

"Sod off!" Arthur called back before pulling on a pair of pants and closing the door behind him, trudging down the hall towards the locked wooden door of Alfred Jones. "Alright, Yank, what do ya bloody want?"

He could scarcely make out Alfred's snickers from the opposite side of the door. "Artie, are you drunk? You sound absolutely hilarious!" What was once an obnoxious snickering soon erupted into an insufferable laughter, bellowing all around the inn's capacity.

"Shut up, you git! Do you have to use the bathroom or not?!"

A long stillness passed behind the locked door, neither blonde daring to speak a word for the longest while. At last, Alfred- who else? - broke the silence. "You know what? The feeling's passed. Go ahead and go back- unless you have my lunch already!"

"Ugh!" Infuriated (and drunk), the Briton threw the door open, locking it behind the two in a hasty ferocity. "Listen up, you bloody wanker, I-" Alfred, however, seemed more interested at the older blonde's collarbone-neck area, as his sapphire gaze was much more fixated on that particular spot than to Arthur's ramblings. "Oh, what now?"

"N-No way…" Alfred muttered, a grin plastered on his face in attempted resistance to laughing. "Is that a hickey? So you and Francis _are_ together!"

"W-W-What?! No, of course not! Well, yeah it's a hickey, but- wait, no! Argh!" With those final, sputtered utterances, Arthur Kirkland turned away from the American and unlocked the door, retreating angrily back into the room where Francis was waiting and locking both doors behind him, waking Ivan from his sleeping spot beside Alfred's door.

"What happened?" A curious face graced the Russian's features as he pondered. "Ah, yes! I'm supposed to be on guard duty, da? Hey, Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't try and escape!"

Alfred snorted. "Yeah, because you'll hit me with a pipe if I do. Really, how stupid do you think I am to believe something like that?"

"Oh, pretty stupid." Ivan proceeded to place his pipe back under the chair in which he was sitting, thankful for the door that separated Alfred's vision from spotting the rusty pipe. "I'm going out for a walk. You'll watch him, da?" He turned to Yao, who was passing down the hall towards the bathroom himself.

Yao sighed, massaging his temples with slender fingers. "I suppose… Only if I have to, aru."

"Ah… well, Feliks is out buying groceries, and Francis and Arthur are doing unmentionable things to each other involving alcohol. You're the only one left, really. Besides, I have some, ah, things to attend to."

"Well… Alright. But don't take too long. I don't know how much of this nuisance I can take, aru."

Ivan nodded curtly, an official stature overcoming his normally cheery demeanor, and advanced out the door and down the street to his other group of conspirators.

* * *

"Ve, when did you say your brother was coming again?" Feliciano asked Ludwig the next morning, sipping a freshly-brewed cappuccino. The frothy liquid clung to his upper lip, making Ludwig shake his head softly at the childish gesture.

"Tomorrow, I think. We still need to finish cleaning." Surrounding the two were Toris and Antonio, as the other two of the household had slept in that morning for unknown purposes. Ludwig glanced around at each of them, planning the game plan for the remainder of the day. "I'll stay down here and finish washing the dishes and sweeping the floor. Antonio can go vacuum the upstairs without waking up Matthew and Lovino, and Toris can finish up the front yard. Feliciano, you can… um… Cook something that won't make a mess." He required his master out of the way- and desperately needed some time alone within his own head.'

"Yes sir~!" Feliciano said happily, setting off to work in the kitchen. Antonio and Toris merely nodded, turning to take on the responsibilities of their own jobs.

Ludwig sighed, wincing as the sound of a car engine quit suddenly in the front yard. Oh, how he had desperately wished it wouldn't be so-! But, indeed, it seemed as though his worst fears had become the frightening reality.

Gilbert Beilschmidt had arrived a day earlier than planned.

* * *

Ivan returned his attention to Natalia, who was busy staring much-too-intently at his face. "S-So, Natalia… Head count! Now!"

Natalia snorted, rolling her eyes with her arms crossed. "If I do, will you marry me?"

"No." He released an irked sigh. "Alright, then, Raivis. You count."

"Let's see…" The Latvian teenager waved a finger about, pointing at each of the members and counting them, making notes within his mind of who was present and who was absent. "We're missing To-"

"Shh!" Eduard hushed him, placing a hand swiftly over the younger male's constantly-running mouth. "O-Oh, um…"

Raivis shoved the Estonian away, narrowing his eyes. "O-Oh, right! Nope, Ivan, everyone's here! In fact, that's the first time this has happened in a while. Guess you really _do_ scare everyone off, huh?"

"Raivis!" Eduard hissed, sweat beads beginning to form upon his brow. Ivan, on the other hand, proceeded to approach the Latvian with the utmost curiosity.

"Say, Raivis?" He placed a hand- a ridiculously-firm hand- upon the younger man's head and pressed down. "How short do you want to be when you grow up, huh?"

"N-N-Not at all, sir… Fine. Toris is missing."

Ivan halted his tormenting, lifting a gloved hand off of the boy's scalp. Uttering neither words nor sounds of any sort, the Russian man rose from his spot and averted his gaze towards the two other men, glaring menacingly in the directions of Eduard and Raivis.

"Well, then I suppose we should find him, da?"

* * *

A/N: Alright, important note here-

I need to hear from you all what pairings you wanna see in this fic. I really don't care what you say you like, just speak your mind! Even if it completely goes against the point of this story, I want to know what you all out there want to see happen between certain characters. Many of the characters will not be paired in the end, but I'm going to try and incorporate the most requested couples. Anything works- you can even request Arthur or Lovino to end up with someone differently! It may not happen, but it still may all the same. **Let your voice be heard through either PM or review!**

R&R~! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far!


	13. The OTHER Potato Bastard

A/N: Sorry it took so long~! School is out now, though, so expect regular updates from me- especially since I finally finished LMIW. *cough* You have NO IDEA how happy it made me to see how many reviews we got last time! *haggles* Thank you all so much- I cannot show enough gratitude!

And, since everyone seemed to want some PruCan, I'll see what I can do to stick a little in here. But, hey, GerIta is the priority right now. Like FrUK and Spamano, it'll be a little more of a side romance than anything else.

Without further ado, the next chapter of TEH. Enjoy and Review~!

Gilbert Beilschmidt, leaning his full weight against the leather seating of the taxi, exhaled deeply as his crimson eyes scanned the Italian landscape out beyond the tinted windows. Within his mind, the German had always thought of Italia as being a beautiful place, abundant in lush green fields directly below shimmering sapphire skies. This Italia, however, far differed from his original idea. He had arrived on a particularly dreary day, and a heavy storm had split the sky only moments before. Though the weather had lightened into a slight drizzle since, there was still a gloomy mist of gray in the heavens above- not principally welcoming, by any means.

_Jeez, what a dump. Guess Luddy wasn't kidding when he said they lived in the slums. _Or, well, it wasn't quite a slum, but not far from it. Running a hand gradually through his platinum blonde locks, Gilbert slumped further down in his seat, head edging to the side a bit to press up against the cold cushion of the taxi seat. His nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed, the sudden, putrid scent of the leather stirring an uneasy feeling within his nose. God, did he hope they actually washed _those _seats…

Regardless, he continued on like that for hours on end, at one point falling asleep with a foot hanging out the rolled-down window and smacking agonizingly against the gate of the mansion- the Vargas mansion, his precise destination which had, at last, been accomplished.

"Ow! Damn…" Gilbert swore under his breath as his booted foot came into direct contact with the metal gate, rudely awakening him from his heavy, snore-laced slumber. "Hey, you!" he shouted up to the cabdriver, positioning himself awkwardly in attempt to remove his foot from the outside world and back inside the resting vehicle. "Why'd you stop?"

"We're here." Gilbert cocked an eyebrow, arms crossed as he finally succeeded in returning his foot to the rest of his body. Impatiently, the German took the door handle in his grasp, forcing the door open with a hefty shove and gathering up his bags and whatnot with his legs- needless to say, multitasking in such a way took a long time, and Gilbert found himself a bit entangled within himself for a few brief seconds before practically tumbling out of the cab. "Yeah, thanks." He tossed a few bucks at the cabdriver and watched as the man drove off in a huff, uttering little things about the rude generation that had come upon this world.

And then Gilbert found himself staring, mouth agape in amazement.

He finally allowed his scarlet eyes to fall upon the manor, and it wasn't, by any means, what he had expected to see. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure what he_ had_ expected to see, but it sure as hell wasn't this.

_Oh my God… Ludwig never said anything about this! Holy crap, this thing's huge! How long am I staying in this place again? It's large enough- I could probably stay for a few weeks without anyone noticing._ Vigorously shaking himself from his state of near-stupor, Gilbert snatched up his bags once more and rang the little bell beside the gate. "Oi, Ludwig! Lemme in!" he shouted into the speaker, tapping his foot rather impatiently as he awaited the voice of one of the estate's inhabitants.

"Who the hell are you?" replied the voice on the other end, irritated in both tone and word choice.

Gilbert was not amused in the slightest. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, so open up!"

"What? The other potato-bastard already? You've got to be f-"

"Ve~!" Another voice joined the other inside the mansion. "_Fratello_, be nice! Hello, Gilbert~! Hold on, let me open the gate…"

_That's what I've been trying to get you to do for the past five minutes!_ But, regardless of his impatience, the gates did, in fact, separate, and allowed safe entrance into the grounds of the large abode. Strolling along the stone path cautiously, Gilbert continued to glance around, still awe-stricken in the grand scheme of things- never in his life did he expect such a magnificent place to be in such a dump of a town. Kind of made him wonder what sort of people lived in this place…

The front door opened instantly, and a brunette appeared in the doorway, a bit flustered but wearing a friendly smile all the same. "Hello. You're Ludwig's brother, right? Welcome in!"

"Yeah~!" Gilbert exclaimed, bursting past the man with a cocky smirk plastered upon his face. A flash of darker blonde passed by his eyes, and Gilbert instantly tackled it in the heat of everything. "Ludwig! Hey, what's happening?"

"Get off…" Ludwig shoved the other German off of him, frowning a bit at the sudden return of his arrogant, overenthusiastic brother. "You're here sooner than expected."

"Yeah, the plane took off early, for some freakish reason. So, who's the little punk who answered the doorbell?" Ludwig gave a little head-motion to the left, as well as a slight grimace, and Gilbert followed the hint. His gaze fell upon Lovino, then upon the curl, and a heavy chortle suddenly erupted from his chest. "Seriously, though, who was it?"

"What, am I not intimidating, bastard?" Lovino snapped, advancing a single step in the direction of the newcomer with pure malice spread across his face. "I happen to be the head of this household, for now, and I can throw you out just as quickly as you came in!"

"Try it!" Gilbert rose from his spot and continued to gaze around, paying no mind to the fuming Italian in the corner of the room. "So… who are these people, exactly?" In all honesty, they all looked equally bizarre, but he kept quiet about this and just stared instead.

"That's Lovino," Ludwig murmured to his brother, motioning to the pissed off man over to the left. "He's the head of the family, as only he and his brother are left. He was gone, for a few (peaceful )days, but then he and Antonio came home- no one really knows why, and they aren't telling anyone the real reason. He's a bit… um, temperamental, so-"

"I can hear you, potato freak!" Lovino snapped, fists clenching at his sides.

"The one who opened the door for you was Toris. He's the most recent one to arrive. He's kind enough, but nobody really knows a lot about him. He always seems a bit flustered at time, too. The one over there next to him is Matthew. Matthew and his brother came over here from North America- his brother is… well, not with us. I'll fill you in on that later. Matthew doesn't say much, and tends to drift away from everyone else, but he knows what he's doing. He's also great at cooking breakfast."

Matthew raised a hand in a polite wave, slipping his glasses back up his nose with the opposite hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Then there's Antonio… He must be upstairs. You'll meet him later, then. He's from Spain- his family is dirt poor, but he's marrying Lovino, so he has gained a lot more in profits recently. A little warning- he can be a bit overly optimistic. He's also a bit oblivious, but means well." Marrying that little nuisance? Ah well, that simply meant the guy probably had a lot of tolerance.

"Lastly, there's Feliciano. He's the younger brother of Lovino, and the one who requested a bodyguard in the first place. He's a little… um,_ slow_, but I will admit, he's probably the one here that I've grown the closest to. It's really hard to dislike him."

"I'm sure we'll get along great if you're Ludwig's brother!" Feliciano proclaimed, a broad smile gracing his lips. "Your room is upstairs, all the way to the right. Feel free to take your bags and take a siesta~!"

About an hour passed in conversation, talking about the trip and everything that had happened in the time since Ludwig had arrived, a many few weeks ago. "So, wait," Gilbert interrupted, sitting down his cards, face-down; he and Antonio had hit if off surprisingly well, much to Lovino's annoyance, and were now playing a game of poker at the kitchen table. "Alfred's been kidnapped? Have you called the police yet?"

"We've tried, but they can't do much of anything. It's a poor section of Italy- crime happens constantly, and there isn't much to do about it," Matthew muttered, sipping a cup of coffee at the bar a few feet away, watching the poker game with the utmost interest. "We've been trying to think up a way to get him back, but we don't know a single thing about the kidnappers."

"That sucks." Gilbert cast a sympathetic smile in the Canadian's direction before replacing the grin with a smirk, directed primarily at Antonio as he threw his cards dramatically onto the tabletop. "Hah! Full house! Read 'em and weep!"

Antonio returned the grin with all radiance, setting down his cards as well. "Straight flush. Sorry, looks like I won this time."

"What…?" Gilbert's eyes widened, exasperated sigh escaping his lips in humiliating defeat. "Fine, fine! What do you want? Money? Or are we playing strip poker? Double or nothing?" He rose, wincing at the agony of the shame bearing down upon his shoulders, and patted his opponent's arm in an attempted congratulation.

"You owe me-" Antonio began, though soon found his voice caught off by a sudden sharp pain upon his shoulder- Gilbert had struck his hidden gunshot wound, which had not healed entirely, and probably wouldn't for another four or five months. "A-Ah! No, really, get off; it's fine, just-!" A hiss of pain elicited from behind clenched teeth, and the Spaniard found himself jolting up, nearly knocking over both the chair and the German in the process, and rushed frantically upstairs, slamming the bathroom door behind him and locking it. Lovino inhaled sharply in a little gasp, rushing after his fiancée in an (embarrassing) panic.

"What was that all about?" Gilbert mused, speaking the rhetorical question aloud in complete and utter confusion. "He won the game- all I did was smack him on the arm. Huh."

"I don't know. He's been acting a bit strangely lately, and doesn't do a whole lot with his right arm anymore. I find it a bit peculiar, really… And he's always got Lovino clinging to him like a leech."

"Want to find out?" Gilbert smirked once more, though this time it was directed at Matthew. The Canadian smiled a bit, though looked away in thought.

"What do you mean? I'm not doing anything to invade their privacy, if that's what you're planning."

"I'm just saying… wouldn't there be some sort of hint in their bedroom? You never know, they could be hiding something incredibly important."

Matthew's violet gaze fell upon the German once more before a frown replaced the previous smile. "You are _not _going t-to-"

"Of course I am! Come on, Mattie!" Matthew tried to protest, though found the pet name- previously used by his brother- left him ultimately speechless.

The Canadian did, however, try to complain when the platinum blonde snatched him by the wrist and dragged him upstairs to accompany him in invading the privacy of Antonio and Lovino. "H-Hey, wait-! This is wrong, we shouldn't be-"

"But you want to know what's going on just as badly as I do! Come on, just keep quiet. They're still in the bathroom." Gilbert froze for a moment, listening in around the corner. "They're talking, but I can't make out what they're saying. Ah, wait… something about Spain, and guns…"

"G-Guns?"

"Shh, quiet! We can't let them hear us! Which room is theirs?"

Matthew scowled, fidgeting a bit in anxiety. "I'm not showing you their room! You have no right to-"

"Matthew!" Gilbert rounded on the other man, grabbing his wrist once more and dragging him down the hallway. "You're coming with me whether you claim you don't want to or not. I can see it in your eyes- you've been dying to know what's going on for days."

The Canadian let out a melancholy, defeated sigh, gazing down at the hand clasped around his wrist. "Quickly, then. That room, right over there."

Gilbert smiled that cocky grin of his, forcing Matthew along the hallway until they came upon the door that separated them from the truth. Biting his lip as the door creaked, the German skillfully opened the door with a flick of the wrist and forced it open, stepping cautiously around various items upon the floor. "Someone's a little messy…" Matthew followed closely behind, nearly bumping into his companion on accident on more than one occasion, as they entered the room. "Mattie, let's split up. I'll look over by the dresser, you try the bed. I don't even want to be near that thing- who knows what they do when other people aren't around."

_Thanks for volunteering me, then…_ Matthew sighed, but obliged nonetheless and proceeded to stroll over to the bedside, shuffling through the many layers of sheets and blankets with only one thing in mind- an answer to the mystery. "Find anything yet?"

"Nope. Keep looking."

Glasses firmly atop his nose, the Canadian man then turned his attention to the bedside table, which had upon it many items of various shapes and sizes- magazines, a tomato-scented candle (only those two…), a box of matches… Nothing at all particularly suspicious, though. He gave a large sniffle, dust wafting into his nostrils, though soon froze, body ultimately paralyzed from the shoulders down. He inhaled once more, a sharper breath taken in and drawn out quickly, in effort to remove the revolting stench from his nose. "U-Ugh! Where is that coming from?"

"What, do you smell something?" But Matthew gave no reply- instead, Gilbert whirled around, finding his accomplice's violet eyes entranced and horrified, staring at the head of the bed, scooted closely to the wall. Soon, his own expression matched that of the other man's- terrified and completely dumbfounded.

There, upon the head of the bed, were splotches of deep crimson- nothing short of fresh blood.

"Y-You-!" An alarmed voice sounded from the doorway, and Gilbert turned around in time to see Lovino standing there, face entirely unreadable in the shadow cast by the blinds over the window. The German could, however, make out the faintest scarlet stain along his left hand, and a few splotches flaking his face and shirt.

Matthew was speechless, just as always.

And then there was Gilbert Beilschmidt, quite possibly as opposing of silence as they come. "What's going on? Don't you run away, you little bastard!" Alas, Lovino did, indeed, turn and flee, forcing Antonio back into the bathroom and locking the door tightly behind them. "Come on, Matthew, let's go!"

Matthew said nothing, but instead merely nodded and followed behind Gilbert, nearly clinging to his arm to avoid falling over in the array of objects within the room's premises. However, as opposed to going back downstairs to break the news to everyone else, he stumbled over to the locked bathroom door, listening in as Lovino's panicky voice rang out from behind the wooden barrier.

"Antonio, they know!"

"What? What're you talki-"

"That potato-bastard and Matthew! They-! Oh, shit, this isn't good… they'll tell everyone else, and then-"

"Wait, you mean Ludwig? He's not-"

"No, the other potato-bastard!"

"Why can't everyone else know?"

"We don't need their pity!"

"Is that really the only reason?"

"I-!"

But Gilbert and Matthew heard no more words spoken from the Italian's mouth- in their place sounded a slight sob, stifled but evident enough to be heard from outside.

"Gilbert?" Matthew asked softly, tugging on the other's sleeve. "Do you think we should tell the others?"

"Um…" But the door swung open, hitching all of Gilbert's intended words within his throat.

"Listen, you two. If you so much as _think_ about what you now know without our permission, you will be immediately fired… and possibly worse." Lovino crossed his arms and blushed a deeper red before continuing on. "Trust me, you don't want o know what'll happen. I don't want my brother worrying over us. Are we clear?"

Matthew nodded, urging Gilbert to follow. "Hey, wait, Matthew! Antonio and I have a game to finish. You still up for a game?"

The Spaniard nodded, grinning just as broadly as before, even with the now-bloodied bandage around his arm. "After you pay up."

A/N: One last chapter before anything big_ really_ happens. Once again, I am forever grateful to you glorious reviewers~! Keep 'em coming!

Also, I hope I did PruCan some justice, as I've never written it before and had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

**R&R~!**


	14. Awkwardness Abound, O Woe is Me

**A/N: Sorry if the last chapter was not quite… up to par. After taking about a month-long hiatus, I had come to realize that my writing was indeed quite rusty, and I feel that it showed. I also apologize if Ludwig seemed OOC- I have the hardest time writing his character, for whatever reason.**

**Eh, to make up for it, this chapter is brimming with little moments of friendship and mild GerIta, as well as a brotherly bonding and a cliffhanger for the end (don't we all simply love those?). So, I hope you will continue to enjoy (or loathe) TEH and continue to give me your feedback!**

**En joy~!**

**~w~w~w~**

Ludwig rose from his place beneath the comforting sheets of the bed, frowning ever-so-slightly at the distasteful flavor of sleep that still lingered upon his tongue and coated his mouth with the revolting taste of bacteria. Feeling an inward groan arise in his throat, the German stood up and staggered exhaustedly over to the bathroom, adjacent to the mattress. He took care to step silently over Gilbert, who was curled up in a ball, more or less, upon the floor, blanket draped loosely over his bare shoulders. Sleeping in had always been a particularly common thing for the platinum blonde to do, considering how often he chose to get wasted the night before. Ludwig assumed this would be no different- as the younger of the two had trudged off to bed the previous night, Gilbert could have been seen sitting upside-down upon the couch, legs hanging over the backrest with his head lolling near the floor. A bottle of wine could be seen on the end table, and while wine wasn't Gilbert's preferred alcohol of choice, it was more than satisfactory at this home- after all, Feliciano and Lovino made it a point to buy the best of the best, especially when taking wine into consideration.

_Feliciano…_ Ludwig repeated his master's name within his head as he grabbed a toothbrush from the holder beside the sink. Though quite a while had passed since his job acceptance, Ludwig found that he was becoming less and less certain about what really passed through the younger Vargas' head. In fact, Lovino was probably the only person in the entire manor that could usually tell what Feliciano was thinking, as well as his possible motives, but that only made sense, considering how long they had lived together. Allowing the thought to pass by his mind, he quickly scrubbed his mouth clean, washed up, and left the bathroom, spotting his brother still lying lethargically upon the carpet. With a final head shake of disapproval, Ludwig maneuvered his way around the body of Gilbert once more and over to the bedroom door, twisting the knob with a swift flick of the wrist and exiting the premises of the shared bedroom, shutting the door silently behind him. Why was it that Gilbert was staying with him? Feliciano had insisted, though Ludwig found that he knew no real explanation.

Releasing a sigh of slight fatigue, the blonde German turned on his heel and plodded down the hallway, taking care to step lightly at the sound of sickly snoring that erupted from Matthew's bedroom. The Canadian had come down with a meager head cold recently, and had been thoroughly congested for about three days. The German man could only sigh once more; there was still no information on Alfred's whereabouts, and all hope directed at the subject seemed to be entirely dissipated. Clambering down the long, winding staircase, he made his way into the main living area, upon which Feliciano was sitting on the large cream sofa, grin broadening at the sight of his bodyguard appearing from the stairwell.

"Ve, Ludwig!" his master exclaimed, snatching a long, rod-shaped object that Ludwig assumed to be biscotti from a large platter upon the vast coffee table. He lightly patted the seat on the couch beside him, beckoning for Ludwig to sit beside him and have a friendly chat. "Come here and have some biscotti! I just made some this morning!"

The German rolled his eyes, though found the slightest inkling of a smile cracking upon his lips before a content façade soon conquered the smile. He nodded curtly, taking a seat beside his master and grabbing some biscotti for himself, finding that a few mugs of coffee, enough for each member of the household, were placed upon the table as well. He reached outward with his right hand, hesitantly hooking the cup's handle within his fingers before dunking the biscotti into the warm drink.

Feliciano grinned wider, if that was at all possible, as Ludwig brought the food up to his mouth, tentatively nibbling on the end of it before taking a much larger bite, chewing slowly in a thoughtful manner. "So, how is it?"

"It's… pretty good, actually." Ludwig gave another nod, sipping from the mug of coffee and leaning back into the comforting embrace offered by the sofa as the warmth distributed throughout his body. However, a sudden thought struck his mind, and he placed the mug back upon the table, thinking aloud and consulting Feliciano about a somewhat important matter. "Feliciano, sir… Have you been threatened at all by those criminals since Alfred was taken hostage?" It had never really dawned on him, but the more Ludwig considered the idea, the less sense it was making.

"Hmm… I don't think so!" the latter replied, biting off a rather large piece of biscotti. "I sure miss Alfred, though. I wonder why they haven't tried to capture me or Lovino again? Ve~…" His face fell a bit, vivid eyes gazing ahead blankly as the piece of biscotti was placed back upon the platter, half-eaten. Ludwig felt an eyebrow raise in question. For his master to seem down in the dumps at all surely meant the apocalypse was drawing near. Under normal circumstances, the German bodyguard would likely have taken cover and planned a strategic way out of the world's sudden end, drawn out by Feliciano's discomfort. However, for whatever reason, he felt compelled to reach a hand uncertainly forward and place it on the Italian's shoulder, shaking him lightly.

"F-Feliciano?"

And a pair of arms wrapped around his torso, causing Ludwig to squirm a bit uncomfortably in surprise. Admittedly, there were very few things in this world that stunned Ludwig in any way whatsoever, but Feliciano's sudden need for a hug was _not_ something he had anticipated in the slightest. Clearing his throat with a slight blush creeping along his cheeks, the bodyguard merely patted the other's head, glancing awkwardly from side to side at the discomforting situation. "Feliciano?" he repeated again, gently _peeling_- Feli apparently had quite the grip- the other man off of him and returning to his coffee.

"Thanks, Ludwig!" the Italian said cheerily, all signs of irritation wiped clean off of his face. Ludwig, on the other hand, gazed up with a glimmer of confusion glinting in his sapphire eyes. What had brought on the peculiar, out-of-the-blue hug? Well, he supposed Feliciano was always clinging to his brother, and every now and then he would give Antonio a quick embrace, so perhaps this was the younger Vargas' way of showing his acceptance of Ludwig into his group of companions. Such a thought, though it did meld Ludwig's stomach into a mushy discomfort, it also made him feel a bit happy, though certainly not a giddy happiness, and presented the faintest whisper of a grin, which the taller man swiftly concealed behind his coffee cup.

"Oi, bastard!" And leave it to Lovino to break the silent bonding. The older Italian's head peered out from behind the wall, typical scowl slapped upon his face. "Get any closer to my brother, and you'll find an extra fist, connected to your face." Without another word, nor even a glance, at the German, Lovino clambered over to his brother, tugging at his arm and urging him to stand.

Feliciano obliged, though waved goodbye to Ludwig and took one last piece of biscotti before returning his attention to his brother. "Lovino? What is it, _fratello_?"

Lovino stopped at the front door, snatching a coat from the coat rack and handing another one to his younger sibling. "We're going out to the market to buy some things. I'm not leaving you at home with those potato freaks, and I don't know what kind of things you'll want for dinner this week, so you have to come with me."

"Ve, okay." Though a bit of disappointment graced Feliciano's voice, he soon slipped on the coat and followed his beloved brother out the door, stumbling down the stairs and turning towards the garage. A slight look of worry convulsed the younger's face, however, as he noticed Lovino passing by the garage and towards the gate. "Hmm? Lovi, where are you going?"

"Don't call me that. And we're walking this time." Strange, Lovino wasn't typically one for physical exercise.

"… why?"

To that inquiry, Lovino didn't answer; instead, he grabbed his brother by the wrist and pulled him harder, picking up speed as they exited the gate and proceeded down the pathway. The two walked on in an awkward silence, Lovino finally extinguishing his hold on Feliciano's wrist as he advanced upon a single stall.

Yet again, Feliciano broke the silence. "Lovino," he repeated. "Where are we going?"

Lovino whirled on his brother, narrowing his eyes. "Many things. First of all, I didn't leave you home because I need… erm…" He swallowed hard, eyes shut in disgust as he forced the foul-tasting words off of his tongue. "I need your help with something."

Feliciano cocked his head to the side, resembling a puppy dog in utter confusion. "What do you-?"

"Alfred's been missing for a long time now, Feliciano. We need to continue asking around, to see if there's any more information on him, or the criminals. People are more accustomed to opening up to you than me, so I figured you could be used to my advantage. Secondly…" He sighed, placing about eight tomatoes into his bag and paying the stall keeper, avoiding his brother's gaze at all costs. "I don't know what to do for our wedding anymore. We're in _Italia_ now, and I'm not leaving until this matter with the convicts is solved. With Alfred gone, and the both of us as targets for the criminals, there's just not much of an opportunity to get married in a situation like this. I can tell Antonio's not too concerned with it, but… Well, a month or so ago, I had thought that I would be getting married soon, dammit! I'm sick of getting promised something and then not getting it!"

"But… That doesn't matter at all! Stupid brother!" Feliciano scolded, though embraced his frowning sibling with a smile upon his face. "It doesn't matter if you're married or not! You're still with Antonio, and the rest of your family, so that's all that matters!"

"That's corny," Lovino replied, snorting, though returned the hug quickly, pulling away as hastily as he had accepted it. "And what family? You're the only flesh and blood I have left, remember?"

"That's not true. Me and Ludwig and Matthew and Toris and-"

"Alright, alright! I get it, you idiot! Let's move on! We need to find out more information on that damned American's whereabouts." Crossing his arms, Lovino continued along the path, deep in thought. That's about the time that a sudden realization struck him like a blow to the face. "And Ludwig's _not_ included in this hypothetical family!"

Feliciano suddenly beamed, tackling his brother in another sickeningly-loving hug. "Ve~!" he squealed as Lovino shoved him off. The younger Italian still smiled up at his brother, however, as he rose from his spot on the ground.

"What the hell's your problem?"

"You called Ludwig by his name! That never happens!" Lovino frowned, scarlet hue returning to his face. Feliciano continued to smile, positively relishing the fact that he had found a successful loophole in his _fratello's_ words. "You usually call him bastard, or potato freak! But you called him Ludwig! Maybe you don't hate him as much as-"

That earned Feliciano a swift shove to the shoulder once more, rougher than the previous one as Lovino looked away. "Shut up. I will _never_ accept that bastard."

Feliciano only continued to smirk as they stopped at another stall, grabbing a handful of various nuts. _ In time…_

~w~w~w~

Time passed rather quickly that day, particularly for Toris. Nothing had really occurred that day that was at all out of the ordinary- well, Gilbert had managed to get himself locked in the bathroom, but other than that, things had run relatively smoothly around the Vargas manor. He smiled contently to himself as he bid everyone a final goodnight, climbing exhaustedly up the stairs for a good night's rest. Deep within, however, he still felt a profound fear of what lie in the night, for that was Ivan's most active time of day. How was the Russian reacting to Toris' lack of obedience? Was he even aware of it? Nothing in his mind doubted that Ivan had known for some unfathomable amount of time- he seemed to have eyes everywhere around town, the creepy bastard- and, yet, he felt moderately safe within the haven of the Vargas' mansion. Slipping into his pajamas, Toris shut his bedroom door tightly behind him and scrambled into bed, pulling the covers above his head and falling into a peaceful sleep.

Or, at least, it was somewhat peaceful. The only real disturbance was the bizarreness of his dreams, consisting of five frogs and a drunken bowl of pasta (however that was possible). One of the frog spoke, smiling (smiling?) all the while as he hopped about the bowl, chanting, "Like, Toris! Wake up! Toris, seriously, get up! Now!"

… And that was precisely when his eyes snapped open, revealing a certain blond companion of his leaning over him, observing his sleeping face with a curious expression.

A slight shriek nearly welled up from within the Lithuanian, but he somehow managed to force it back down. "F-Feliks? Is that you?"

~w~w~w~

**A/N: Eh, it's gotta be better than the last chapter. Sorry for the lack-of-awesomeness in this chapter, but Gilbert will appear much more later on! I guarantee it~!**

**Hope nobody was too OOC that time. I tried my best, really! But, alas, at times, my best is not good enough, I'm afraid…**

**R&R~!**


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